


Acclimate

by ohstars



Series: 'Til the End of the Line [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 21st Century, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Closeted Character, Dog Tags, F/M, Gen, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha Romanov, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve Rogers-centric, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars
Summary: After waking up in a new century, Steve Rogers, the famous Captain America, finds himself struggling with the consequences of his actions from his previous life and coming to terms with this new world. He's barely given a chance to acclimate before everything goes upside down.Our Now: Part One of Four





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story within this series. However, you DO NOT have to read the previous book to understand what happens in this one. The previous book was more background/prequel to this one. However, this is the epilogue for the previous book, though. 
> 
> This is part one of four of Our Now and focuses on Steve adjusting to the century, his grief, and anxiety. 
> 
> Enjoy. xxx

_Prologue_

**2013**

The hospital room was dark and unnerving. Steve didn’t feel safe, not after everything that had happened this past week. His skin crawled with paranoia. He glanced at the lamp on the bedside table, itching to turn it on. But the IV in his arm pulled a little too much and he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to move that much.

His body ached with every breath, specifically his abdomen. He knew he was healing pretty quickly, but three bullets in the gut were still going to take some time. . .

He wasn’t sure he if even had enough time to heal properly. He needed to get out, to help take down Hydra and finish this for good.

Steve really wanted to turn on the damn lamp.

Sam would be back tomorrow morning after his meeting at the VA. Natasha had texted him saying she was booked solid with meetings on Capitol Hill, but she’d try and come over as soon as she could. Even Tony and Bruce had mentioned making a trip down to DC for a weekend to see Steve.

Part of him was glad he had made new friends in this bizarre era, but part of him just wanted to see Bucky again.

Bucky. . . The Winter Soldier.

God, he was an idiot. He should have jumped off that train after him, then he would have been able to see that Bucky was okay. They would have been together, bloody and bruised, but together.

Steve wanted to leave this place. He had work to do. He needed to find Bucky and rid the world of Hydra again.

If only he wasn’t so exhausted.

Steve tried to get comfortable without moving his body too much. He pushed his head back into the pillows and carefully wrapped the threadbare blankets around him even tighter. The chill in the hospital was almost too much. . .

The door creaked open and a body slinked into the room. They shut the door again and Steve could hear the click of a lock. Steve squinted, trying to see the figure from his permanent station on the bed. Usually, the nurses flip the light on. . .

“How are you?” Steve ordered, already trying to sit up. An unintentional hiss of pain slipped as he tugged on his abdomen a bit too much.

Steve watched as the body tensed in the doorway. “Are you gonna come in or not?” He tried to keep his voice stern, but a bit calmer.

The person turned started for the door.

Steve sighed. “Can you at least come turn this lamp on?” The person paused and Steve noticed that they had a hood on over a baseball cap. “Please?”

The person walked towards Steve cautiously. He moved quietly, his feet not making a sound. He raised a hand and shifted his body so he was facing Steve. 

The lamp came on with a click and the room brightened up in an almost warm glow.

And the man’s face was revealed.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped. The man grimaced and moved away quickly. Steve reached out and grabbed his wrist, his right wrist. “Wait, please,” Steve practically whined. “You came here for a reason, why?”

Bucky paused, the tension in his shoulders obvious. “I don’t know.”

“Then will you tell me why you helped me? Why’d you save me?” Steve blinked away the tears that had welled up in his eyes, the heart monitor beeping a little faster.

“I don’t know.”

“Bucky-”

“That’s not my name,” the man snapped. He turned on Steve, his face dark from the shadows the lamp had cast.

Steve let his wrist go and held up both of his hands in surrender. “Okay. What would you like to be called, then?”

The man (Steve didn’t like referring to him as “the man,” but without a name for him, Steve didn’t know what else to call him. If he didn’t want to be called Bucky, then Steve wouldn’t call him that. Anything to keep him here. . .) faltered. “I don’t know,” he answered weakly.

Steve nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay. That’s okay. Is there something you need? Did you want something? Is there something I can do?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his lips pursing just a little. Steve’s chest ached as he pictured a teenage Bucky doubled over his math homework, a pencil tapping against his temple. He shook it off and sat up a little, wary of the pain in his abdomen. Apparently, his face hadn’t hidden his pain as well as he’d hoped. “Did I,” the man trailed off.

“It’s okay,” Steve started. “I’ll be fine.”

“But did I hurt you?” There was an edge to his voice that Steve couldn’t exactly decipher.

Steve hesitated. “Yes,” he mumbled. “But I heal real quick. I’ll be out of here tomorrow morning!”

The man’s head fell, shame written as plain as day on his features. “How can I,” he held his hands up and made a weird motion as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Steve bit down a smile. “Would you mind grabbing another blanket for me? They left some on the table over there.” The man turned and grabbed another thin blanket, draping the somewhat soft material over the heaps of blankets already on Steve’s lap. “I don’t do so well with the cold anymore.”

“Did I,” the man started again.

The captain shook his head. “No, I did that to myself.” He settled into the warmth nicely, content with the blankets.

The man nodded absentmindedly.

Steve cleared his throat and pointed to a satchel in the chair beside the bed. “Can you grab that bag for me? I think I may have something for you.” The man’s eyebrows knitted together again, but he grabbed the bag anyway. Steve dug through the contents and plucked a worn journal out. He flipped through it and ripped out a few pages, folding them and stuffing them back into the bag. “This,” he showed the man the journal, “is something I wrote after our first encounter.”

“The first mission? On the roof?”

He shook his head. “No, the highway. When I realized who you were,” Steve clarified. He cleared his throat again. The man grabbed a glass of water from the table and cautiously offered it to the captain. Steve smiled and took the water graciously. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Anyways, I wrote down as much as I could remember from back in the day. It’s certainly not everything, but it could help you jog your memory.” He handed the journal to the man. “Take it. Read it. Keep it.”

The man flipped the journal over and over in his hands. “I-”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t say anything. I want you to have this. Even if it doesn’t help much or. . . or I never see you again, it’ll give me peace of mind to know I helped you in some way.” The man nodded and started towards the door. “You’re leaving?”

He paused and turned back around, confused. “Am I supposed to stay?”

“You can.” Steve bit his lip. “I’d like you to.”

The man shook his head. “Not safe. They’ll find me. Have to keep moving.” He started for the door again.

“Wait-” Steve shot up, groaning in the process. The man hurried over to his side and helped him lay back down with gentle hands. Once Steve was curled back up against the pillows and snuggled into his blankets, the man jumped back as if he hadn’t realized what he did. He cowered from Steve a little, more inwardly than anything. Steve’s heart broke. . . Someone hurt his best friend to the point he wasn’t himself anymore. . .  He spoke softly as if he were speaking to a scared animal, “I won’t stop you from leaving. Not if that’s what _you_ really want to do.” Steve paused to let the man talk, but all he got was a wide-eyed, terrified look instead. So he continued, “But I’d like to see you again one day. And just know that I’ll never stop looking for you. Because one day, you’ll remember. I just know you will. And when that day comes, I want to be there. However long it takes.” The man eased a little, but he stayed as still as he could. “Take as long as you need. You’ll know where to find me, I’m sure.” Steve gave a sad, pathetic chuckle as he blinked the tears out of his eyes again. “Just promise me one thing,” he looked up at the man, “take care of yourself. Okay?”

He didn’t stop the man from leaving after that.

A nurse came in and gave him another dose of medication, enough to knock him out. When he came to, Sam was sitting beside him again like he had every day since the Potomac.

It was as if it the meeting was all a dream, but Steve knew better. He knew his Bucky (wait, he didn’t want to be called Bucky anymore. . .) had been there.

And all that was left were the torn pages of the journal. Where all of Steve’s favorite memories that involved his romantic relationship with Bucky lay.

One day, Steve would give these to him.

One day, he may go by Bucky once again.

One day, things would be back to normal and they’d be Steve and Bucky once more. 

One day.


	2. 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up in the year 2012 and faces the 21st-century head on while dealing with his grief, depression, and the overwhelming changes the world has made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took WAY too long! I am so sorry for making you guys wait almost three months (or is it really just two?) for this next chapter. I hit a few speed bumps with the planning and my writing in general. Either way, I hope you enjoy!! - J & E xxx

_ Chapter One _

  
  


**2012**

 

Steve stepped out of the vehicle and cautiously surveyed his surroundings. The trees that encompassed the area reminded him of the European forests he’d been through during the war, there was a lake that was bigger than the one the Barnes’ had taken him to back in the summer of ‘29, before the Depression hit, and a quaint little cabin that was nestled into the scenery like one of those paintings Steve had seen at some point on his USO tour. It was peaceful and relaxing, the complete opposite of the war and Steve’s life as Captain America.

Fury stepped out of the SUV and walked to the back, grabbing a duffel bag. “Welcome to the Retreat, Captain Rogers,” he announced in his gruff voice. The director walked towards the cabin and unlocked it, not bothering to see if Steve was following him inside. Steve followed him, hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes still locked on the scenery.

Inside the cabin, the design was confusing. It was warm and cozy, yet sleek and modernized. And not the modern he was used to, with the drastic edges and bright, vibrant colors. The cabin itself was about as big as Steve and Bucky’s apartment back in the ‘40s and somehow that comforted Steve enough to wander around the place.

The director set the bag on the coffee table and let Steve take a look. He settled into the sofa, legs crossed and arms over the back of the couch. Fury simply kept his eye on Steve’s movements, not in a scary, intimidating way but in a calculating, curious way. Either way, Steve didn’t feel scared or worried about the man’s gaze being glued on him and it didn’t stop him from taking a good look around the place (read: check the perimeters).

Steve eventually settled into the recliner, rigid and tense. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at Director Fury, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“What? Don’t like the place? Too rustic for you?” Fury cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“No,” Steve said with a small chuckle, “it’s too calm. And modern.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “Speaking of which, I’m still not too sure I understand what happened and why you’ve brought me out here.”

Fury sat up, too, and sighed. “Look, Steve,” he glanced up at him as if to ask if that was okay. When Steve didn’t seem to care, he continued, “things are different than it was when you were awake. The war ended, people moved on, and life continued. You crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic and somehow, with the serum and the ice, you were able to preserve your body completely.” He cleared his throat. “Like I told you before, I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Department, but you can call us S.H.I.E.L.D.or S.H.I.E.L.D. Which I should thank you for, Captain Rogers.” Fury leaned back with a smirk, settling into the cushions again.

“Why is that?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows, lips pursed. He wasn’t sure what this was all about.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. was created by the legendary Agent Margaret Carter and Howard Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. I assume you know them?”

Steve blanched. “Peggy and Howard?”

“They created S.H.I.E.L.D not too long after the Valkyrie crash. Wanted to keep your legacy going and prevent people like Johann Schmidt and Hydra from gaining power. S.H.I.E.L.D. has changed since then, but the foundation they set is still very evident in the way we govern ourselves.”

Fury crossed his arms. “As for this place, this is the Retreat. A scientist made it for himself after an experiment went wrong.”

“How so?”

“That’s classified. For now, at least.” Fury stood and gestured to the room. “This place was built for the containment of enhanced individuals, but I’m not trying to keep you here. I figured that staying in New York right after you were thawed out would be too much of a shock to your system. Now, I’m not sure how much has changed exactly, but I’m sure it’s far different from what you grew up with. Am I wrong?”

“Not exactly.” Steve sighed. “I know how to adapt quickly.”

Fury nodded. “Good to know.” He rose to his feet and motioned to the TV and DVD player he had set up against the wall facing the couch. “This thing doesn’t get cable and it’s a bit older, but it’ll work just as well.”

“What is it?” Steve mumbled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks and neck.

“Right, TVs weren’t around when you were roaming the earth.” Fury pointed to the TV and said calmly, “This is a television. It’s basically a private movie screen just for you. It’s replaced the radio, really.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “People don’t listen to the radio anymore?”

“Only in their cars.” Fury grabbed the remote and handed it to Steve. “Press that red button at the top to turn it on.” Steve did as instructed and the screen flickered to life, illuminating the room in a soft blue glow. “Now all you have to do is turn on this,” he pointed to the silver DVD player, “and you can watch a movie.”

“How?”

“We’ve developed technology to burn movies onto these disks that look a lot like smaller records to play movies and music,” Fury explained and Steve could sense he was really trying hard to be understanding. It’s not Steve’s fault he woke up almost seventy years later and missed a technology revolution. “They’re called DVDs and CDs. Don’t bother asking what those stand for, you don’t need to know. DVDs are for movies and TV shows. CDs are for music.” Fury pointed to a bookcase he has sent over filled with documentaries and movies Fury thought Steve would need to see. “Those are DVDs. Most are documentaries on things you’ve missed, some even on World War II,” Fury smirked, “not that you need those.”

Steve chuckled, blushing even harder. “S’always nice to figure out the ending.”

Fury continued on his little technology lesson. He taught Steve how to insert the DVDs and how to play them. He even taught Steve how to work the microwave and the stove, although Steve had a pretty good idea how the stove and oven worked. Fury pretty much went through the building, giving Steve lessons and explaining to him what sort of technology changed.

By the time he finished, Steve’s head spun. He wouldn’t say he had a good grasp on how things worked, but he had a general idea. He stood in front of Fury in the middle of the kitchen and blushed. Steve stuttered out a meek, “Uh, thank you, sir.”

Fury waved him off. “Just trying to help. But this,” he pointed between the two of them, “stays a secret. Alright, Captain? I have a reputation to uphold and I can’t have people thinking I’m some caring, nice guy.”

Steve gave him a cocky salute with his own salute. “Yes, sir!”

“I need to get back to work. Can I trust that you’ll still be here in a week? Or will I need to keep someone here to babysit?” Fury raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, his true, intimidating side showing.

The captain rubbed at his neck as his face grew even warmer. “I’ll still be here. S’not like I know where I am enough to run off. I’ll, uh, still be here.”

“Good. I need you on my side, Rogers. I’ll help you as long as you’ll help me, understand?” Steve nodded. Fury stuck his hand out and Steve clasped it in his own, giving two strong pumps. “Thank you for your service, Captain Rogers. We’re lucky to have found you and I’m looking forward to seeing what you can bring to this new world.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

Fury let his hand fall and made his way to the door. “Enjoy your vacation, Steve. It won’t last as long as you’d like.”

“I doubt that,” Steve mumbled as the door slammed shut behind the director.

Steve spent the next few days watching random documentaries on the world and tried his best to soak up as much as he could. It was nice being able to lounge on the couch in a pair of slacks and a t-shirt and still get to watch a movie. That was the part Steve really liked, the ability to watch things in the privacy of your home. Well, the Retreat wasn’t Steve’s home, but may as well be the same thing. It’s not like he actually has a home at the moment anyway. . .

Yet, Steve couldn’t focus. He tried his best to listen to the narrator drone on about the Cold War or the Vietnam War, but every time his mind would wander and ask the real questions. _Was all of his friends dead? Or were some of them still alive? What happened to them? What happened to the Barnes? Did the Commandos continue? Who took over for him? Did they replace him? Did they tell the world about the Valkyrie or did they simply say he had passed? Was he “buried” next to Bucky and his mother like he wanted? Was he forgotten or did people know about him now?_

_What happens next?_

It didn’t help that his brain was still fuzzy. It was strange that it’s been sixty-seven years since he was conscious, but it feels like yesterday that he was on that plane.

It doesn’t help that there’s a constant chill on his skin. He’s practically made a nest on the couch, curling up in a variety of quilts and blankets as he watched the documentaries or read a book on things he missed. Even when he takes a shower (which is bizarre in itself. . .) and the water was scalding (another rather magnificent improvement), Steve couldn’t get himself completely warm.

And if he stayed in too long and the water started to get cold? Steve would end up back in the Valkyrie, drowning once again.

He tried his best to make the most of his stay at the Retreat. Steve spends his days reading and watching documentaries well into the night, enjoying the luxury of all the technology improvements he’s noticed. And then he picks up his little nest of blankets and rushes to the bedroom, where he settles back in among the pillows and his little nest.

He tries to sleep, he really does, but it's hard to sleep when you’re haunted by the love of your life falling to the death just behind your eyelids.

Granted, some nights are better than others. On nights when Bucky’s fall doesn’t haunt him, he’s reminded of the war in general and the lives he’s taken in the name of his country. Those nights are the only nights Steve gets a good amount of sleep; he calls them his easy nights. There are nights when Steve has a panic attack in his sleep as he dreams of himself battling Schmidt and drowning once again; those nights aren’t his favorite but they’re better than most. And then there are nights when all Steve can think about is Bucky. He’ll start by remembering the night he shipped out, all the words he told him ( _“I don’t love you anymore. Haven’t for a while. Haven’t been happy with you for even longer.”_ ) when he broke it off, then he sees Bucky fighting for his life on that exam table, nearly dead and blaming Steve for not saving him quicker, before his dream settles on the train and Bucky’s fall to the valley in the Alps, never to be seen again.

He wakes up screaming most nights. He’s starting to believe he doesn’t deserve sleep. Not after he spent almost seventy years asleep.

Most of the time, he gets around two hours before he decides he can’t sleep any longer. He’ll walk outside, bundled up, into the early morning and run around the pond until his lungs couldn’t handle the brisk, cold air anymore and his nose felt like it’d fall off. He’d spend the rest of the day in front of the fireplace in his nest of blankets with a good book or a documentary.

It was a routine. It felt nice. It kept him out of his head long enough that he found himself slipping into an emotional void where the pain was starting to numb him and his brain was mostly fuzz.

He would have let himself fall apart completely if it wasn’t for Fury returning with a thin smile. “Time to get to work, Captain.”

# ~*~*~*~

Steve found himself packing up the few belongings he’d gathered in his two weeks of consciousness. His uniform, shield, the books and documentaries that Fury gave him, a _ton_ of blankets, a couple of basic t-shirts (some with the USSR logo, some with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s logo, a few blank), a few pairs of slacks, and the few street clothes he’d obtained (another gift from Fury he wasn’t supposed to mention). It wasn’t a lot, that he knew, but it was only the start of things.

Steve was moving to a nice little apartment in Manhattan while he figured out how things worked in this new world. Then, as Fury mentioned, they’d transfer him to D.C. and get him started on the high alert missions.

Until then, he’d train at the New York Triskelion and live in Manhattan just down the street from the Triskelion. They had offered to set him up with a place in Brooklyn, but Steve didn’t think he could handle that just yet.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to living on his own. Much less with all of this technology that went way over his head.

Either way, he was glad to be getting out of the impersonal bunk he’d been given once he returned from the Retreat.

Once all of his things were packed away, Steve grabbed the two boxes and left the room. He marched down to the lobby of the Triskelion, out the front doors, and into the car Fury had sent to take him to his apartment.

In all honesty, the apartment was a bit farther than Steve remembered Fury saying. It was still relatively close to the Triskelion, but Steve would have never been able to walk it way back when. Not that his asthma was a problem anymore, but Steve couldn’t help but fall into that mindset every now and then.

The apartment building was nice, but it felt cold and unwelcoming, a complete contrast to the warm brick buildings he’d grown up with. But then again, the twenty-first century felt cold and unwelcoming. . .

The apartment itself was nice and simplistic. Varying in shades of blues and grays, with big windows that let in plenty of light. There was a bookshelf partially filled with books, a nice, full-size kitchen, a nice TV sat in front of a plump looking couch and a cozy recliner, and a gray desk that had some sort of mini-TV on it. All with technology that went right over Steve’s head.

He set the box down on the table and started unloading everything. Steve set about getting things in their right place, falling into his own little world.

It was far too quiet living on his own. And with a sigh, Steve realized he’d probably be alone more than he was used to. . .

It didn’t take long before Steve was done. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself.

Steve walked over to the desk and started checking to see if Fury had left anything in the drawers. There wasn’t much, just some basic supplies. He sighed in defeat, ready to grab a book and settle into the couch for another documentary before his eye caught something on the desk. Tucked under some weird plastic rectangle (He’d seen people typing on it at the Triskelion, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t want to ask. . .) was a folder.

He slid it out and flicked it open, only to find a picture of Peggy Carter staring back at him. He gasped, eyes growing wide and body freezing in place.

The first page was her contact information and basic profile. There was a number listed, but Steve wasn’t sure if it was her number or if it was still in use.

He didn’t see any stamps or anything to say whether or not she was still alive. . .

Steve looked around for the phone Fury had mentioned installing. He plucked it up off its hook, a little surprised at the lack of a cord, and went to dial the number.

His thumb hovered over the final number, his anxiety bubbling in his chest growing tremendously. Steve could feel his breathing growing shallow and his heart racing.

He couldn’t do it.

‘ _Seriously Rogers? There’s a chance you may know_ someone _in this new century and you’re not going to even try?_ ’ he thought with a grimace. ‘ _Do you even realize how lucky you’d be if she were still alive? You left her, you know you did. You broke her heart and the least you can do is call to see if she’s still around. . ._ ’ He slammed the folder shut and placed it back on the desk. Quickly, he grabbed his gym bag (courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.) and his keys and wallet before he left the house once again.

Pent up frustration and anxiety was making his hands shake. He needed some sort of relief, a way to let out some of his issues.

And then he remembered what Bucky used to do whenever he got angry at work or was frustrated over Steve being sick. . . Boxing.

Steve practically ran to the Triskelion and through the lobby, to the training rooms, Fury had let him use. He changed quickly, grabbed a punching bag, and went to work.

The punching bag didn’t last.

He would have grabbed another if it wasn’t for Fury interrupting.

# ~*~*~*~

Steve looked around at the wreckage, at the people creeping out of the buildings with wide, worried eyes, and the dead aliens that littered the streets. The air around them shifted, the tension they’d dealt with the day before evaporating as they stood in the eerie silence.

“I was completely serious about getting shawarma,” Tony reminded them as he flicked his mask off.

Natasha shrugged from her place beside Clint. “As long as it’s nearby, I’m down,” Clint mumbled.

“I could eat,” Bruce said, holding his pants up the drawstring.

“We shall find clothes for our companion and then feast on this so called shawarma!” Thor boomed, a grin on his face.

Tony led the way, his suit clanking with each footstep. Natasha and Clint slung their arms over each other’s shoulders (Steve couldn’t help but think of how Buck used to do that to him. . .) and followed, with Thor and Bruce bringing up the rear. Steve winced a little, not sure if he wanted to go with or find his way home. . .

And then it came to him. He checked the street numbers and smiled to himself. Steve was close to home, close enough to grab Bruce some clothes and meet back up with them.

So instead of catching up with the rest of the Avengers, Steve turned around and booked it towards his place. It didn’t take him long, maybe three minutes to get to his building? Steve scrambled to find a shirt for Bruce and a pair of shoes in his barely existent wardrobe once he made it into the apartment. After stuffing the clothes and shoes into a satchel he had lying around, Steve headed towards the door. He grabbed his keys for his new bike (thanks to Fury) and barreled down the stairs once more.

The bike made the ride to the shawarma place only two minutes (there’s a ton of debris lying around that he may have forgotten to calculate in his decision to grab his bike). The bike itself sputtered to a stop as he neared the restaurant, where he could see an impressed Tony glancing out the window. Steve turned off the ignition, climbed off the bike, and headed into the restaurant, clothes in hand.

“Nice of you to show up, Capsicle,” Tony announced. He was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed and out of his suit.

Natasha glanced back at him over her shoulder with a small, exhausted smile. “We ordered for you if that’s okay.”

Steve nodded, his own exhaustion creeping up. “Thanks,” he breathed, “I figured I’d grab these before I headed over.” He opened the satchel and handed the folded clothes and shoes to Bruce. “You looked uncomfortable in just your pants,” he mumbled with a blush.

Bruce looked at the clothes and back up at Steve as if the captain had grown three heads. “Uh, thanks,” Bruce said with a shy smile. He took the clothes and stood from his seat before heading through the debris-filled restaurant towards the bathroom.

“Look at you,” Natasha smirked, “already taking care of your team.” Steve blushed even harder as he plopped into his seat at the head of the table.

He shrugged and hid his face behind one of his gloved hands. “Fury set me up not too far from here. Thought it’d be easier for me to grab Dr. Banner something to wear than anyone else?” He shrugged again and let his elbow rest on the table.

“You’re a good man, Captain,” Thor grinned.

Bruce returned to the table with a thankful, but thin smile. He nodded to the captain again and sat down, just as their food was brought over. Heaps of Arabic cuisine filled the table among towers of napkins, glasses of water, and the occasional weapon.

Thor and Bruce chowed down, stuffing their faces with as much as they could. Steve picked at his own food, a little sick to his stomach at all the smells his super-sense was being assaulted by, his head still being held up by his hand, elbow still on the table. Natasha and Clint were facing one another, legs on each other’s chairs and sharing silent look that Steve couldn’t read. Tony ate his own food in silence, lost in his head.

In all, it wasn’t a terrible experience. In fact, Steve quite enjoyed the simple, quiet meal they shared.

When they had cleared their table of all things edible (mainly Thor and Bruce. . .), the Avengers thanked the employees and started for the door, sluggish and limping. “We need to head to the Triskelion,” Natasha reminded them, “we can clean up and get checked out there before we head to our respective homes.”

Tony was already getting back into his suit. “C’mon Barton, you can fly with me.” He didn’t give Clint a chance to argue, grabbing his arm and heading off towards the Triskelion. Thor offered his hand to Bruce and the two followed, leaving Natasha and Steve with his bike.

Steve grabbed the helmet he stored in the compartment beneath his seat and handed it to the redhead. She raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, all shy and blushes. Natasha plucked the helmet out of his hands and put it on her head gracefully. Steve climbed onto the bike and started it up as Natasha climbed on behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

As he made his way to the Triskelion, weaving in and out of the debris and traffic, Steve came to the realization that he may not be as alone as he initially thought.

# ~*~*~*~

The weeks following the Battle of New York, Steve found himself training far more extensively than he had before the crash. He spent hours in the training rooms, working on various techniques and building, even more, muscle mass. Steve was improving in all sorts of fighting styles and his reflexes were getting even faster. If he wasn’t in the training rooms, he was reading all sorts of books - fictional and nonfiction.

It was easy to fall into a routine. Wake up, go for a long run, eat a small breakfast, go to the Triskelion, work on his upper body, work on his lower body, practice boxing, practice throwing his shield at all sorts of obstacles and angles, go for another run, shower, go home, make a small meal for dinner, read for two hours, sleep. Everyday, simple as that.

Which is probably why Director Fury called him into his office this morning upon his arrival.

Steve made his way up to the director’s office, a little anxious about the meeting. Fury was waiting for him just outside the office door. “Steve, come on in. We have important matters to discuss.”

Fury led him into the office, filled with sleek, modern furniture and accents and all sorts of monitors and other technology Steve was still confused about. “How have you been, sir?” Steve asked as they sat down on either side of the dark wooden desk.

“Can’t complain. And you? How’s life treating you? Are you easing into this century okay?” Fury leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers.

Steve shrugged. “I think I’m doing okay. Still a little strange, but I’m adjusting as much as I can.”

Fury nodded with a masked expression on his face. Steve squirmed a little in his seat under the pressure of the director’s gaze. Nothing was said for a moment, the air filled with a heavy silence that only encouraged Steve’s anxiety. “I have a mission for you,” Fury announced.

The blond sat up a little straighter (which was surprising, because Steve was practically the poster-boy for perfect posture), his hands grabbing the arms of his chair eagerly. He cleared his throat and tried his best to act nonchalant about the whole thing. “A mission?”

“A mission.” Fury grabbed a folder and slid it over to the captain. As Steve flipped through the files, Fury sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “I need you to lead the STRIKE team to on a kidnapping extraction. Agents Romanoff and Barton will join you.”

Steve nodded. He pointed to a picture of a little girl, “Is this who was kidnapped?”

Fury nodded. “She’s the daughter of a US ambassador to France. We believe she was kidnapped by a group of terrorists-”

“To France or to us?”

“Both,” Fury supplied. “You’ll need to infiltrate their base and make sure Loane is taken out safe and sound. This is all you need to know for the mission. You leave in two hours. Meet Romanoff and Barton at the hanger on the roof, they’ll fly you out to the location where the STRIKE team will meet you.”

Steve stood, his face a deadly serious expression. “Thank you, sir.”

It didn’t take him long to run and grab his uniform and prepare for the mission itself. He poured over the file, reading every detail he could and planning the mission step by step for his team. Steve did a few warm ups, making sure his body was ready to take on the mission before he met up with Natasha and Clint.

When it was time, Steve made his way to the roof where a quinjet was waiting, with Natasha and Clint loading up their gear. “Right on time, Cap,” Clint announced as he glanced over his shoulder.

“How are you two doing?” He asked, offering his hand to shake both of theirs. Clint took it with an amused smirk, but Natasha rolled her eyes and bypassed the handshake completely.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for a brief second, giving him a friendly squeeze in greeting. “I’m doing well, thanks for asking,” she told him as she let his body go.

Steve blushed and gave them both a small smile before they got to work.

The ride to the location of the base was long, but not as long as it would have taken in the forties. Steve leaned against the railing behind Clint, going over the file again and again. This may not have been his first mission, but he wanted to treat it as such. Steve knows he was pretty reckless during the war, but things have changed now. People nowadays don’t know the real story of what happened, and perhaps they never will, but rather stories of Steve being this heroic and brave hero who saved the world over and over again. They had these ideas in their head about how he works, how he acts, and how he thinks. . . He doesn’t want to disappoint them.

“So, Steve,” Natasha purred, “how have you been since New York?” Clint glanced over his shoulder with a smile, awaiting Steve’s response.

Steve shrugged and carefully shut the file. “I’ve been well,” he replied. He shook his head and stood a little taller, “Things have been interesting, to say the least.”

“How so?” She turned to face him, giving him her full attention.

Under the redhead’s fierce watch, Steve blushed and fumbled over his words. “Things are different from when I was,” he started.

“Conscious?” she offered.

Steve nodded with a thankful smile. “Yeah, since I was conscious back in the forties.”

“What’s your favorite thing so far?” Clint asked, not even bothering to face the captain.

The blond glanced out ahead of them, at the vast skies filled with white, puffy clouds. For a split second, his chest constricted and his breathing stopped. He looked away, trying his best to keep an aura of nonchalance as he thought about anything other than flying and plane crashes.

Steve, for a brief moment, was relieved that the quinjet was smaller and flew smoother than the Valkyrie. It didn’t feel like he was actually flying, nor that he was on his way to his demise. He took comfort in the fact that Clint and Natasha were flying, both of which he knew were experienced in this field.

“Movies,” he finally answered. “We didn’t have a lot to choose from back in the day and they were all in black and white. I like that you can watch them at home instead of going to some big theater, although I’ll miss that.” A nostalgic smile toyed at his pink lips and Steve shook his head. “I remember growing up, me and a friend of mine would pay a dime to go watch movies all day. Sometimes he’d bring a couple of girls to spend the day with us, others we found them together. It was real fun,” he concluded.

Natasha and Clint shared an amused, fond look between them before Natasha carefully turned to Steve. “They still have them, you know?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Have what?”

“Movie theaters,” Clint called over his shoulder, “but you pay a lot more than a dime.”

“Oh.” Steve’s face turned the color of his shield, a bright, crimson red. “I, uh, haven’t gotten around to exploring much just yet.”

Natasha nodded and turned towards the controls again. “We’re getting close to the rendezvous,” she paused and glanced back, “but maybe once we’re finished with this mission, the three of us can go exploring together.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Will there be pizza?”

“If you’re willing to share,” Natasha smirked.

“Then I’m game.” He turned to Steve, “Whatcha say, Cap? Wanna hit the town with Nat and me?”

Steve blinked in confusion, a little stunned that they were so eager to hang out with him. Sure they saved the world together, but they were all rather reluctant to do just that. Now they were asking to hang out with him outside of work on their own free time? Steve was more than a little amazed, if not completely, at the thought.

“If you’d have me, I’d love to go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Natasha beamed. She flicked a few knobs on the control panel and buckled her seat belt. “Prepare for landing, Rogers.”

They landed the quinjet just outside of the suspected base. The STRIKE team was already waiting for them, geared up and ready to go. “Captain Rogers,” a short, brawny man with dark hair greeted with an outstretched hand, “Brock Rumlow, I’m the commander of the team.”

Steve clasped their hands together and gave two strong pumps, a little impressed with how strong the man’s grip was. “Good to meet you. I’ve read up on your team, you guys have done some pretty impressive missions.” He dropped the man’s hand, turned towards the team and offered a handshake to each member.

“Thank you, sir,” Rumlow beamed, “that means a lot coming from you.”

Steve clapped his hands and cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s get to work. Natasha, you’ll take a third of the team with you. I want you to get in, gather as much information as you can, and secure the building. Clint, you’ll take another third. You’ll lead your team through the roof and move down until you meet up with Natasha. Rumlow, you’ll take the rest. I want you to secure the perimeter and make sure no one makes a run for it. Shoot to injure, not kill, if you can help it. We don’t know how many hostages they may have.” He paused to make eye contact with each person in order to make sure no one was confused.

“And what will you do?” Natasha asked delicately.

“I’ll get in, grab Loane, and meet one of Rumlow’s guys outside. They’ll take her back to the quinjet and guard her while I come back to help you. Once you start rounding people up, we’ll contact S.H.I.E.L.D. for backup and criminal transportation.” Steve grabbed his shield and put on his helmet. “Let’s roll.”

The teams split up, with Natasha, Clint, and Brock control of their own sub-teams. Steve, having already memorized the layout of the building, helps Natasha get in through a side door before he splits off towards the basement where Fury’s intel has Loane kept. They communicate over the comms, giving bits of information and correcting the intel as they move through the building.

Steve barrels through door after door, his shield held high as he raced through the stairwells. He was loud and obnoxious, not even bothering hiding the fact that he was there.

With his enhanced sense, Steve could hear what was happening in the next room, could see the movements of the shadows for anyone trying to sneak up on him, and feel the vibrations of people heading towards him. He was prepared for everything, using his fast reflexes to knock out a goon or break a gun that someone had pointed in his direction.

He was unstoppable.

The adrenaline coursed through his veins, pumping almost animalistic power into him with every footstep and around every turn. His head was clear, focused on one thing and one thing only and that was completing this mission.

“Roof is secure. Over,” Barton announced.

“First floor is secure. Rumlow’s team needs to keep an eye on all entrances still. Over,” Natasha added.

He practically flew into the basement, jumping over the railing and landing on two unsuspecting men. Steve held his shield up, covering his head and torso as the other three men shot at him. The bullets pinged off the vibranium shield, flying off at different angles. Steve turned the shield in his hand as another bullet hit the shield, ricocheting the bullet into the man on the far right’s arm. He fell to the floor with a scream, clutching at his bicep that had started to ooze blood. Steve turned the shield again, angling it so another bullet would hit the man in the middle. And again to hit the last man standing.

Steve took a second to glance at their wounds. ‘They’ll be in pain, but at least they’ll be alive.’ He took another moment to tie them up, bounding them to pipes along the basement wall.

And then he was scouring the basement, searching every nook and cranny for the little brunette child he’d seen pictured on the file.

“Cap, any word on the child? Over.” Clint called over the comm.

“No sign yet. Almost cleared the basement. Five so far, all in holding. Over,” he responds, his index finger pressing the button in his ear lightly.

“Back up’s on their way,” Rumlow announced, “I’ll send them your way first, Cap. Over.”

Steve was about to give his thanks when he heard a quiet cry from the end of the hallway. He ran, stumbling over his feet a little in his hurry to reach the child. He burst through the door, breaking the metal hinges off in the process, and froze.

Before he was a metal examination table with a little girl no older than ten strapped to it.

She was crying, her eyes squeezed shut and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her hair was splayed around her in a halo of tangles and messy strands and her hands were clenched into fists beside her, held close to her sides by the leather straps.

Steve felt his breathing stop and for a moment Steve didn’t see Loane on the table.

_Bucky._

_He was laying on the examination table, moaning and mumbling something Steve wasn’t picking up over the explosions outside. He moved closer, the words becoming clearer. “32557038. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve reached out to touch him and Bucky winced slightly._

_“Buck, it’s me, Steve,” he told him, already working on the leather straps. His heart ached at the sight of Bucky, nearly motionless with sickly pale skin and his body weak from malnutrition._

_Bucky perked up a bit, his eyes a little clearer. “Steve?” Shaky, pale hands grabbed for the blond, pulling him closer. “What happened to you?”_

_“I joined the army,” he gasped, pulled Bucky up off the table._

A high pitched whine pulled him from his flashback. Loane was squirming on the table, whining louder as Steve stepped closer. “ _Parlez-vous le Français ou l'Anglais?_ ” Steve asked softly, hands splayed in front of him in surrender.

“Both,” the little girl squeaked in a French accent.

“My name is Steve Rogers, I’m here to help you.” Steve took another cautious step forward. Loane let out a quiet sob, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “It’s Loane, right?” Loane opened one eye and glanced over at him, a big, fat tear rolling down her cheek. She nodded and Steve took the last step he needed to reach her.

Quickly, he ripped the leather straps off of the table and Loane and pulled the little girl into his arms. She wept against his chest, holding onto his jacket with weak fists. “I’m going to get you home, okay?” Loane nodded, tucking herself into his arms. Steve moved the shield in front of her, covering her from anyone’s sight.

“Back up’s here, Cap,” Brock announced again, “making their way down to the basement. Over.”

Steve pressed a finger to the comm in his ear and said, “I have the victim. Heading back to you, Rumlow. Over.”

With that, Steve ran back through the basement. He kept on the arm holding the shield up in front of them and his other wrapped tightly around the small child. “You okay, still?” He asked her quietly as he bounded up the first flight. She whimpered, cowering further into him and herself, but nodded nonetheless. “I’m going to get you home, don’t you worry.”

He passed back up on his way up, nodding at the S.H.I.E.L.D. employees that met his eye. Steve didn’t stop or slow down until he reached the entry way he had taken down for Natasha. He barreled through again, trying to move faster so the medical unit could look over Loane.

Loane turned out to be fine for the most part, just a few bruises and scrapes that would heal within days. They had, however, given her some sort of experimental drug that slowed her immune system down for a few hours. Loane claims she feels fine overall, except for a headache and a runny nose and the throbbing in her right arm where they had placed the needle. Steve wasn’t convinced, but let the medical team do as they needed.

Once the building was completely secure, the STRIKE team disbanded and Natasha, Clint, and Steve were tasked with taking Loane home. Natasha and Clint flew them to Paris, a quick trip that had Loane falling asleep in Steve’s arms quickly. It was a quiet flight, peaceful and filled with the serene sounds of the engine, the wind, and the soft snores that slipped out of the child every now and then.

Paris was comfortingly familiar. Sure, there were a few things added or upgraded, but Paris was still Paris after all these years. Steve happily toted the child through the streets, getting all sorts of stares and gasps as he marched in his full uniform. Natasha was by his side, hand hovering close to her hip.

They dropped Loane off at the US Embassy with her parents. Despite the offer to stay for an early dinner, Steve and Natasha left as soon as they confirmed that Loane was okay, healthy and that her parents would take her to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base for a deeper medical evaluation.

“You did good,” Natasha quipped on the way back.

Steve blushed from under his helmet and gave the Black Widow a shy smile. “Could say the same about you.”

“Are you up for a movie tonight? Clint and I usually do something after debriefing anyways, helps get the post-mission jitters out,” she asked slyly.

“If you’d have me,” Steve replied with a shrug, “but don’t feel like you have to. I don’t want to barge in on your night off.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and looped arms with him. “Please, like I get a night off.”

# ~*~*~*~

It wasn’t until two weeks later that Steve saw Natasha again. Steve was lounging around his apartment, reading a book on the Vietnam War and how America reacted to it as he curled up under a thousand warm blankets when Natasha slipped through the door. The captain sat up, back straight as a rod with his eyes wide and arms ready to haul himself up. “How’d you-”

Natasha held up a hand, a playful smirk on her lips. “I picked the lock. Figured you may be asleep or your hearing aids were out after I knocked,” she slid her hands into her back pockets and wandered around the room.

“Real funny, Natasha, but I know you didn’t knock.” Steve glared at her with an impressed smirk and asked, “You have a key don’t you?”

She held up a gold house key with a triumphant smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I have keys to all of the team’s houses.”

“So this isn’t just special treatment for the team’s resident grandpa?” Steve stood up from his seat, folded the blankets haphazardly, and dog-eared his book.

“I’m afraid not.” Natasha glided over to the record player, her fingertips tracing the buttons and knobs. “Does this work? Or is this one of those antiques that people have lying around for show?”

Steve turned to face her, expression tight with confusion. “What?”

Natasha shook her head, her red curls bouncing with the movement, and gifted Steve with a breathy laugh. “It’s nothing.” She plucked a record out of its slip and placed it gently on the hook. “Have you used it before?”

“A few times,” Steve answered from the kitchen. He grabbed two bottles of water and made his way back into the living room. “It’s not the same as listening to the big bands play live, so I try not to play them often.”

“That’s a shame,” Natasha mumbled just before the sound of a trumpet filled the room. Steve held his breath as the soft music surrounded him, sending him back to a time when he and Bucky would sneak off to go dancing at the queer bar down the street. Then the man started to sing, and with a heavy heart, Steve realized where he’d heard this song specifically.

_It was in his mother’s house when he was a child. Sarah Rogers had just returned from a night shift and relieved Miss Walker of babysitting duty. “How’s my sunshine doing today?” she asked softly, sitting beside his little feet. Miss Walker had tucked him into bed with a cool rag over his forehead, trying desperately to keep Steve’s fever down._

_“I don’t feel good, Mommy,” little four-year-old Steve has whined._

_Sarah nodded, her brow furrowed with concern and her lips curled in a sympathetic smile. “I know, sweet pea. Mommy’s going to do everything she can to get you healthy again, okay?” Steve gave her a weak nod. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water. Be right back,” she whispered before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead._

_Sarah left and returned with a small glass of water. She helped Steve sit up and sip at the glass, the small child whimpering and sniffling as he drank. “There we go,” Sarah whispered, rubbing Steve’s back through the thin shirt he wore. “You know what makes me feel better?”_

_“What?” Steve sniffled, looking up at her with big, blue eyes dulled by the pain he was feeling._

_She leaned and whispered in his ear as if it were a secret, “Dancing.”_

_“Dancing?”_

_“Yes, dancing.” She moved to the floor, kneeling by his bed. Sarah’s eyes were bright with mischief and her voice giddy with mirth as she asked him, “Steven, would you like to dance with me?”_

_“But I’m too small Mama,” he whimpered, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. Sarah plucked a handkerchief off his bedside table and wiped his nose in a quick, skilled motion._

_“I think you’re the perfect size to dance with me. C’mon, sunshine, it’d make my day if you’d dance with me.” Sarah stood to her feet and held out her arms. Steve scrambled up and leaped into her embrace, curling up against his chest. Sarah laughed and kissed at Steve’s hair. “There’s my sweet boy,” she whispered as she glided out the room and into the living room._

_Sarah fiddled with the record player, humming to herself before the bursting of trumpets filled the room. Steve lifted his head, looking from Sarah to the record as the music swelled around them. “Are you ready?”_

_Steve nodded, a little hesitant. Sarah secured her arms around him before she spun around, dancing to the beat with him in his arms. Steve shrieked with laughter, his voice louder than the music as he bounced in his mother’s arms. Sarah sang along with the man, her voice a melody of soft words and airy laughs._

_When the song ended, the two were in a fit of laughter as they stood in the middle of the living room. “Again, Mama! Again, again!” Steve pleaded, shaking her shoulders a little._

_Sarah laughed and turned on another song, going right back to dancing with her son._

“What song is this?”

“ _Swanee_ by Al Jolson,” Steve answered automatically, shaking himself from his wandering thoughts.

Natasha glanced back at him, slightly impressed by how quick the knowledge came to him. Steve reached over and turned the music down a little, wiping her expression clean. “Too loud for you, old man?”

“Unlike you, I like to hear myself think,” he retorted.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Natasha moved to the desk, her fingers grazing the file carefully. She waited for a moment as if to see if Steve would stop her, before plucking the folder up out of its place. Steve watched from the archway into the kitchen, arms crossed and face void of any emotion but boredom. “Have you contacted her yet?”

Steve sighed. “No.”

Natasha glanced back at him, head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. “And why is that?”

“Don’t want to risk it.”

“What’s there to lose?” She turned to him fully now, folder held in her hand.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? Or if she’s not alive? What if the contact information is out of date and I’m chasing empty dreams?”

Natasha shrugged. “Won’t know until you find out.”

He shook his head. “I think I’d rather not know.”  
  


Natasha studied him for a moment before she dropped into the desk chair and spun towards the little monitor. “Have you looked her up yet?”

“Excuse me?” Steve made his way to her, watching as her fingers flew over the keyboard. (He’d picked up a few things listening to the people in the Triskelion.)

“Have you looked Peggy Carter up? Seen if she was still alive or not?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“How would I do that?” Steve asked cautiously, blushing furiously.

Natasha pointed to the screen, where a simple white screen popped up with the words “Google” written in a handful of colors. “With the help of the Internet.”

“The what?”

She laughed quietly to herself and smiled up at him. “Sit. I have a lot to show you.”

And that’s what she did. Natasha spent a good two hours showing Steve around the Internet and the computer itself, giving him little tips and hints on what he can do. “You can look up anything? Like an encyclopedia, but without the paper?”

“Exactly.” She gave him a proud grin and typed furiously away, pulling up a page on Agent Peggy Carter in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. “The legendary Agent Carter,” she announced as the page loaded.

There were pages upon pages of what Peggy had done for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the country itself, intertwined with her personal life and goals. Natasha navigated the site flawlessly, pulling up her recent years. “Do you want to see her?”

Steve paused, eyes glued to the picture of a flawless Peggy standing beside USO Captain America. “I think so. It’d be nice to know I had someone left from before the ice around.”

Natasha’s shoulders tensed a little, her expression tight. “Steve, I’m not sure how much is left.” She pointed to the screen, where a paragraph detailed where Agent Carter was now.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked after he read the sentence for the fourth time.

She turned to face Steve and took his hand carefully. “It means that Agent Carter-”

“Peggy. Call her Peggy, Agent Carter’s too personal. She’d hate to be called anything other than Peggy in a casual setting,” Steve mumbled.

Natasha nodded. “It means that _Peggy,_ ” she emphasized, “can’t live on her own. Her memory isn’t what it used to be, Steve. Are you familiar with Alzheimer's?”

Steve’s face fell, her shoulder tense. “You mean she won’t remember who I am?”

“It’s hard to say. There’s a chance, but you can never be too sure. You can tell her who you are one day, but-” Natasha shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain this delicately, Steve.”

“Then don’t.” Steve pushed away.

Natasha let him walk into the kitchen, giving him some space. “Do you want to watch a movie?” Steve turned around to glare at her, completely shocked that she’d suggest something so trivial compared to the news he’d received. “There’s a movie that I think you’d enjoy. It’s,” she blushed only a little, “a weakness of mine.” She glared at him, a finger pointing at him dangerously. “You can’t tell anyone,” she threatened.

Steve raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, and he leaned against the counter. “What movie are you suggesting?”

“ _The Notebook_.” Natasha gathered her purse and jacket and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

Natasha dragged Steve through Manhattan to her apartment on the opposite side. She lived in a nice, clean, modern studio apartment that looked like it cost more than Steve made in his lifetime before the crash. “Sit,” she ordered as she pointed to her plush couch.

Steve sat down cautiously, leaning against the arm. Natasha glided through the room, grabbing snacks and setting up the movie. “What’s this movie about?”

“It’s a modern day classic,” she explained as she settled into her seat at the other arm on the couch. “I’m hoping this will help you realize what Peggy may be going through,” she said delicately.

Steve didn’t get a chance to question how before the door opened again and in waltzed Clint. “What’s up, Cap?” He raised his hand, where a couple of pizza boxes were stacked. “I bring food. One for you two and another for me,” Clint laughed.

Natasha rolled her eyes but stood to grab plates and napkins and a couple of beers. Steve thanked her tremendously for her hospitality, even if he was a little sad he couldn’t feel the effects of the alcohol anymore. They three settled back into the couch, the lights dimmed low and the volume up high.

As the movie went on, Steve found himself engrossed in the story line. “How accurate were they?” Clint asked, pointing to the screen. “You lived through all this,” he clarified, “so how accurate were they?”

Steve shrugged. “I can’t be too sure. Things weren’t that different in New York, but they weren’t the same either.”

“Ignore him,” Natasha said softly, “he has a thing about movies being accurate.” She curled into Steve’s side, wrapping her small arms around his middle. Steve laid an arm across her shoulder and squeezed, happy to have the contact.

It’s weird how he can go weeks without human contact, other than the random handshake and the sparring, and not miss it. But as soon as Natasha gives him a hug, Steve becomes crippled with loneliness and the depression he can’t come to terms with. He knows it's there, he can feel it deep in his chest, but Steve’s learned it's easier to ignore and compress unwanted emotions like that.

Steve focused on the movie, trying to keep his more depressing thoughts at bay. He was in the company of (his coworkers, but at this point could he call them friends? Or were they closer to being acquaintances?) and he wasn’t about to let his anxiety or negativity ruin this moment he desperately needed.

And then the movie hit it’s climax and Steve’s chest constricted. He was no longer semi-relaxed, instead, his muscles grew tense and his expression horrified as he watched the couple on the screen go through their struggle.

When the movie ended, Clint got up to take some of the trash into the kitchen, leaving Natasha still snuggled into Steve’s side. “Wanna watch another?” he called, his voice carrying over the clatter of plates.

The Russian looked up at Steve, her brow furrowed and her bright green eyes only slightly watery. “Steve,” she whispered, “are you okay?’ He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes trained forward. Steve didn’t dare say a word, nor did he look down at the redhead. “Steve,” her voice was calming and smooth, yet delicate as if she knew that if she spoke too loud she’d break the captain. “Talk to me.” Steve felt a soft, gentle hand on his cheek and the gentlest pressure pulled his head down to look at her.

He opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself. Instead, he found the words stuck in his throat. Natasha sat up a little, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in close. Steve curled into her, his forehead resting on her shoulder. He didn’t cry, wouldn’t let himself break that easily in front of the spy.

“Steve, it may not seem like it, but,” she took a deep breath, “I’m on your side. I,” she pulled away a little, enough to look at him, “I have something to confess.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he straightened up, his dark cloud still looming in the background. “What is it?”

Natasha glanced down to her lap, fully facing the blond now. “Fury only assigned me onto the French terrorist mission to make sure you were okay. He wanted me to get close to you, in case the acclimation became too much for you to handle. I was supposed to teach you how things work and,” she trailed off.

Steve stood up, distancing himself from her. His brow creased his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Steve was having a difficult time computing the information because, despite his knowledge that Natasha Romanoff was an international spy, he still trusted her as a friend. How can someone treat someone like that, especially someone as desperate as Steve?

“Steve, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” Steve sighed and shook his head. “I’ll see you at the next Avengers training session,” he said softly as he gathered his hat and sunglasses. With that, Steve left Natasha’s apartment and headed home with only a thought for company.

He would always be alone, no matter how much he tried or wanted to be with someone else, platonically or romantically.

Always.

# ~*~*~*~

It was taunting him, the computer on his desk. Steve had been avoiding the machine, still wary of all it could do and how it worked. Then again, he was tempted to see what he could learn from the device.

Specifically, the fate his friends and surrogate family had met.

Steve laid on the sofa, the TV a low hum in the background as he stared at his desk. It’s been two and a half months since he defrosted and he hasn’t been able to find out anything on his family and friends, except for Peggy. Then again, he hasn’t exactly tried either. . . Fury offered to help him find out what happened, even offered information on the Howlies, but Steve refused. It was all too fresh and he was already mourning the loss of his life and Bucky, confirming deaths would have only made it worse.

He’s not better than he was before the Battle of New York. It takes him longer to get out of bed, even with the years of military training ( _“Bright and early, Rogers.”_ ) and he barely eats, just enough to get by for the day. (He’s still amazed by how big the portions are today. It’s hard enough to stomach food in general and that’s with the serum, trying to eat double of what he’s used to? That’d be nearly impossible.)

Steve knows he’s not healthy, but he can’t bring himself to fix it. He exercises far too much for how little he’s eating and his body feels numb to how painful his days are until he goes to bed. On a good night, Steve will spend an hour staring out the window while his guilty, grief-filled thoughts consumed him before he’d fall into a restless sleep. They weren’t great, but Steve preferred them to his bad nights. His bad nights usually consisted of him spending an hour or two trying to fall asleep, only to wake up after an hour with a heart-wrenching scream and covered in sweat.

It didn’t help that he spent most of his days alone.

But he’s grown used to it. He’s not crying as much these days and he’s getting better at pushing his negative thoughts away momentarily.

He can’t seem to look away from the computer. There’s nothing on the screen, yet his eyes are glued to it. _Should I look? Should I try to see what happened to them? Or is it too risky? Could this set me back?_

_You’ll never find out until you try, Steve. Peggy’s still around, maybe someone else will be too. You can’t think they’re completely gone just yet._

Reluctantly, Steve stood and crossed the living room, sitting himself down in his office chair. He turned the computer on and waited, his knee bouncing anxiously. The screen flashed to life and Steve quickly (read: slowly) signed on.

When he finally got the search engine up, he blanched. Where did he start?

“Alright Steve,” he mumbled, “let’s just take a deep breath and start with something simple.” Steve did just that and typed in the name of his mother’s hospital. He clicked around the web page, starting with the array of pictures that popped up. It was different, modernized with sleek colors and clean edges and nothing like Steve remembered it.

With a heavy heart, he searched for his childhood address. They had torn down the buildings he used to live in with his mother and Bucky, instead, they put up a new apartment building that looked like it was desperately trying to blend in with the buildings surrounding it, but failed miserably.

He shook his head, his mind turning dark. _Were they trying to erase the past?_ He typed in the address for his and Bucky’s place and to Steve’s surprise, the images that popped up didn’t look all that different than from what he could remember.

The biggest difference being the plaque beside the door that read: _Captain America Historical Museum._

Steve hesitantly clicked the site, bracing himself for something tacky and unrealistic. Instead, he was sent to a professional looking website decked in tan, blue, and red. There was a slideshow of pictures that slowly clicked by, some of Steve during the USO tour, some of him and the Howling Commandos, and some of Steve’s childhood days. He watched them tick by until they’d looped three times. Steve bit his lip, unsure if he should click on some of the tabs that the site displayed, from an ‘About’ section to an ‘Exhibit’ section. He wasn’t sure what to pick.

He clicked the ‘About’ tab and waited.

A block of text popped up on screen, complete with a picture of the building with Steve and Bucky on the stairs during the leave they’d gotten in ‘44. He began to read, only to stop short at the second sentence.

> _Started in 1946, George and Winifred Barnes wanted to preserve the memory of Captain Rogers, a good friend of their eldest son Sgt. James Barnes. The couple bought the apartment their son and Rogers shared and started to collect artifacts from their service. . . They continued to expand their exhibit, including buying the other apartments on their floor and remodeling them into specific exhibits on various time periods of Captain America’s life. . . When George passed away in 1972 from a heart attack, Winifred gave the deeds to the museum to their youngest child, Daisy Barnes-Reynolds, who continues to keep the museum running today with her children and grandchildren._

“Grandchildren?” Steve whispered, a horrified expression on her face. “God I missed a lot.” He scrolled through the pages, skimming through the history a little more until he came upon the hours of business.

They were open.

Steve jumped away from the desk and the computer, stumbling over his feet and falling onto the couch. He didn’t want anything to do with the website, not when it teased him with the idea of seeing Daisy if the site was accurate.

But a part of Steve knew he had to go, as quick as possible.

_You don’t have the time to play around Steve. If Daisy’s alive, she’s in her eighties and she’s not guaranteed time anymore. You need to man up and go see her as soon as you can._

“Right,” he mumbled to himself, slowly shaking off the unnecessary fear that had engulfed him. “Right, you can do this. Just travel across town and visit a museum about yourself and see if the sister of your dead hu-,” his voice cracked and his throat grew tight, “friend,” he said slowly, “is still alive and working. No big deal.”

Steve got ready quickly, shoving a ball cap on his head and a dark, baggy jacket over his shoulders. Snagging his sunglasses and keys on his way out, Steve set out to visit the _Captain America Museum._

The apartment building looked exactly the same. Well, for the most part. Someone had replaced the brick that was missing on the stairs and there were a few new cracks in the steps and sidewalks. Other than the golden plaque near the door, it was exactly the same as he had remembered.

Yet everything was different.

Steve stood on the other side of the street, jacket on and hat sat low. He couldn’t bring himself to walk across the street and into the door, no matter how much he wanted to.

_You should just leave. This is too much. You’re going to go in there and be disappointed, you know that. Just leave. Walk away and leave._

His chest was getting tighter just standing there watching the building with big, scared eyes. Steve could feel his breath getting shallow and his legs turning to jello.

_Steve, you’re wasting your own time. Get your act together and walk across the street._

He shook his head and turned around, walking back the way he came to head to his motorcycle.

_You coward. Look how pathetic you are. What would Bucky think about you running away like this? Just running away from what could be your last contact from your life. He’d be ashamed, that’s what. How dare you? Hell, I’m ashamed of you and I’m you! You’re pathetic, Steve. Pathetic._

He was so stuck in his head that he didn’t even realize he was crying or his breathing was too quick, too shallow.   
  


“Sweetheart, are you okay?” A sweet, melodic voice asked as a gentle hand laid on his shoulder.

He shook his head, desperate for any type of comfort and relief.

“Is it asthma? I used to have a real good friend who had asthma. It was scary watching him struggle.”

Steve shook his head, trying to force his brain to get the words out.

“My brother used to make him sit down and breath in real slow a couple of times. Why don’t we try that?” The person guided Steve to a set of stairs and sat him down. “Now take a deep breath while I count to ten then let it out for another ten. We’ll keep doing this until you feel better, okay?”

Steve nodded.

“Breathe in, One...Two...Three…” Steve did as he was told, taking in deep breaths and letting them out. “There you go. Again, breathe in. One...Two...Three…”

“Are you feeling any better sweetie?”

Steve nodded again. “I am, thank you,” he croaked.

“What happened, if you’d be so kind to tell me.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I came down here to see if someone I knew a really long time ago is still around. Chickened out.”

“I see. Why’d you come here in the first place? What’s so special about them?”

“She’s my best friend’s little sister. I,” he took a deep breath, “I think she may be all I have left.”

“Then why on earth would you try and run from that?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Look at me,” the person said. Steve fixed the bill of his cap, making sure the shadows covered his eyes and looked up at the frail, aged woman who sat beside him. And felt his heart beat right out of his chest.

 _Those eyes. . . Those are Barnes’ eyes._ The shape, the pigment of blue that always pierced Steve’s soul whether he was looking at Bucky, Rebecca, Winifred, or-

“Daisy?” He whispered.

The woman leaned back a little, eyes skeptical and her once concerned smile now suspicious. “Yes?”

He ripped the ballcap off and turned to face her. “Hi,” he whispered.

Daisy gasped, a hand covering her mouth. “Steve?” He nodded. “I thought it was a rumor. I didn’t think it was really you! But it is, oh it is!” She was already crying as she reached for him, pulling him in close with her surprisingly strong arms.

Steve gave a watery laugh. “It’s me.”

She let him go, a hand on his cheek. Daisy was smiling through the tears before her brow furrowed. And then, completely unexpected on Steve’s part, she slapped him as hard as she could. “You were just going to leave without seeing me? You’ve been around for months and you’ve only just _thought_ about coming to see me? Did you not think that maybe I wanted to see you! Maybe I wanted to know who was taking up the shield of my dead brother’s lover?” She whispered the last part, a soft glare on her face.

A blush coated Steve’s cheeks and neck, growing redder at the last word. “Daisy, it’s been a hard few months. Nobody had any information on you or your family, they didn’t think it mattered to me. It’s not like we’re biologically related. We’re not even related by marriage-”

“Yes, we are,” Daisy said softly. “You’re my brother-in-law, Steve. They just don’t realize it. Besides, we’re related by more than that. It’s not about some paper documenting our kinship. We’re related by the mind and soul.”

Steve blinked the tears out of his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Peggy told me.” She moved to stand up, her legs wobbly and weak. She had a cane in her hands, supporting half her weight. It hit Steve like a ton of bricks just how much he missed. He shot up, arms automatically shooting out to help her stable herself. She smiled at him, a beam of a smile that warmed Steve’s, heart. Daisy slipped her arm through Steve’s and patted his bicep. “Come with me. I want to show you the old place and I’ve got a few things you may just want.”

They walked to the old apartment or the new museum, and all of Steve’s anxiety vanquished. He was just happy to have Daisy on his arm and some form of familiarity.

Daisy led him up the familiar stairs and down the hall. “I own the whole floor,” she explained. “That door,” she pointed to the first on the left, “is all about your military service and the serum. The one across from it is about the Howling Commandos and Agent Carter. Beside that is your childhood history, then beside that one is all of your USO days. And then we have your apartment set to perfection and a storage room.”

“Impressive,” Steve mumbled. “You’ve done a lot to try and preserve my memory.”

“If I didn’t, then no one would get the story right. They’d try and change it to glorify you,” she stopped in front of the storage room. “Little do they know, your stories are brilliant enough.”

Steve rolled his eyes and opened the door for her. “You flatter me,” he laughed.

Daisy flicked on the light and marched over to a safe. “Steve, I’m the biggest Captain America fan in existence. You have no idea how true I believe that statement to be.”

“I ever tell you how much I love you?”

A light, wonderful laugh spilled from her lips as she opened the safe. “Only whenever you and Bucky would be around.” Steve’s face fell as he stood in the doorway. Daisy spun around with a box in her hands and a bright smile on her face until she saw the look on Steve’s. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shook his head. “Sorry, just. . .”

Daisy gasped and sat the box down on a table to cover her face. “Oh my, Stevie. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you may not be through grieving.”

“It’s okay, Daisy,” he sighed. “It just feels like it was yesterday, not sixty something years.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Only a couple of months. I woke up mid-April and it’s only the first week of July.”

“And it's only been a few weeks since Bucky passed. Oh, Steve. You didn’t even have time to properly grieve,” she cried. Daisy shuffled closer to him, pulling him into her chest just as he broke down into tears. “Let it out, Stevie. Let it out.”

And in that moment, Steve couldn’t have been happier to have let his anxiety get to him.

# ~*~*~*~

After the eventful reunion Steve had yesterday, he didn’t plan on leaving his bed.

Steve had come home late that afternoon with a big box of his old things, the best thing to happen to him since he woke up. He spent all night picking through his sketchbooks and finding the best ones to hang up. He had planned on spending the day in search of the perfect frames to fit his sketches so he could display them around his home.

His body had a change in plans.

He wanted to get up and leave the house like a normal person would, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. His body felt so heavy and filled with exhaustion that he didn’t think he physically could get up.

If he were being honest with himself, it was slightly alarming.

He was in and out of sleep for the better part of the morning. Steve would wake up and look at his box of things and the sketchbooks that poked out, then plop right back down into his cocoon of blankets and bundle of pillows.

 _How did we ever survive on such a hard mattress way back when? I can’t believe I thought the mattress Buck and I shared was nice, not compared to this one._ Steve smashed his face into one of his pillows, ready to doze off again when the door to his bedroom opened.

“Get up,” a fierce feminine voice ordered, “we’re leaving in half an hour. I want you up and out of this room ready to go by then.”

Steve jumped up, already reaching for his shield that was leaning against his nightstand. His blurry eyes focused on the figure in his bedroom door frame. “Natasha?” He asked, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms and entered the room, her gait steady and controlled. “You didn’t think we’d let you spend your first birthday out of the ice in bed did you?” Natasha crossed the room and opened up the closet, only to find a few shirts and two pairs of slacks (all courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.). She sighed and glared over her shoulder, still holding open the double doors open. “You still haven’t gone out shopping yet? We issued these clothes to you months ago and you said this would work until you got to go shopping for your wardrobe.”

A blush coated Steve’s cheeks, dusting his face in a soft pink. “It’s worked thus far.”

Natasha walked over to the dresser and pointed to the second drawer. “If I open this up, will I find clothes?”

“Yes,” Steve answered confidently.

She moved her finger down to the third drawer. “And this one?”

Steve hesitated before giving a meek, “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Natasha glided back towards the closet and grabbed Steve’s leather jacket and a pair of slacks. “I’m taking you shopping, then we have plans for tonight.” She laid the clothes out on a corner of Steve’s bed before she turned to the dresser to grab a white tee, a clean pair of boxer briefs, and a pair of socks. “Shower and put this stuff on. I’ll be in the kitchen.” With that, Natasha left his bedroom, her bright red curls bobbing with each step.

The captain sat there for a moment, a little stunned. _Note to self: Natasha Romanov has zero patience out of the field._ Steve shook his head and climbed out of bed to take a quick shower.

Twenty minutes later, Steve dragged himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready to go. He stopped in front of Natasha, who was facing the stove as she waited for the coffee to finish, and stood at attention. The redhead glanced over her shoulder, her bright green eyes scanning him carefully, picking up every detail. “Turn.” Steve blushed and spun on his heel. He could still feel her eyes scanning over his body. “Okay, I suppose this will do.”

Steve spun back around and gave her a lazy salute before he grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “Why exactly are you here?”

“I told you. I refuse to let you spend your birthday alone.” She gave him a small, timid smile, completely out of character. Steve’s cold heart warmed at the sight, but he didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he took a deep breath and started, “Well, I appreciate it.”

Natasha poured the coffee and Steve carried them to the living room. “Our first stop is the mall. You need clothes, Steve, and ones that don’t look like they should be worn by a ninety-five-year-old.”

“I’m ninety-four, what do you expect?”

“Exactly, you still have some time before you wear this,” she motioned to his outfit with a playful smirk. “Then we’re going out to a late lunch. There’s this cute French cafe that I think you’ll like. After that, Tony invited us to his place for the night. A big, Fourth of July party.”

Steve sighed into his mug. “A party that has absolutely nothing to do with my birthday, right?”

Natasha gave him another small smile. “Right.”

They spent longer than Steve had expected to go from store to store. Natasha would sweep through the makeshift aisles, Steve trailing behind her like a lost puppy, and throw random shirts and jeans his way. She’d shove him into a dressing room and he’d be forced to try them on in various orders and show them off. _This feels an awful lot like the USO tour_ , he thought as he tried on another pair of too-tight jeans. “Since when did wearing jeans become a fashion trend?” he called out to the redhead on the other side of the door.

“Not sure. Probably the ‘80s, maybe the ‘70s. I’m not really sure. Why?”

He glanced at himself in the mirror, blushing at the feel of the jeans tugging where they shouldn’t. “Last I checked, wearing jeans meant you were poor or running low. S’why I didn’t have a pair, I didn’t realize they were trendy now.” He stepped out and showed off the new polo and jeans combo she’d put him in.   
  


Natasha tilted her head, a bored expression on her face. She lifted her finger and twirled it, a silent order for Steve to give a spin. He sighed and slowly turned his body to give her a variety of angles to choose from. “Things have changed. Fashion has advanced tenfold since you were around, Grandpa. Keep the jeans, forget the polo. I think I figured out your style. And size.”

“Does that mean I have to try anything else on?”

“Probably not.”

“You say that like you’re not sure.”

“We’ll see, yeah?” Steve groaned and trudged back into the dressing room.

“Oh hush, this is only the third store. We’ve barely gotten started,” she called to him. Natasha was enjoying his misery, practically getting off on forcing him to do stuff he didn’t want to.

Steve was too drained to argue.

He let her drag him around to just about every store in Manhattan. She’d grab a heap of clothes from each store (sometimes sneaking something for herself) and swipe a little plastic card through some sort of machine (“It’s a credit card, specifically Tony’s credit card.” “Oh, I figured with the picture of the Iron Man symbol it’d be Clint’s. Wow, you really pulled one from under me.” “You know, the history books never said you were this much of a smart-ass. . . I like it.”). Then their numerous bags would just disappear. A man would swoop by, politely take the bags, and then Natasha was dragging him towards a new store.

“I take it this isn’t your first shopping spree?” Steve muttered as they stepped into another air-conditioned building.

“And what would give you that idea?” Natasha gave him a wink as she started to sift through a row of jeans.

Steve chuckled as he moved towards a stack of button down shirts. “There are so many options,” he mumbled. His fingers grazed the material, the different fabrics soft against his touch. “We didn’t have all this when I was growing up. It’s a little overwhelming if I’m honest.”

Natasha hummed in response but didn’t reply. They didn’t say much about after that, just little comments about the clothes and orders Natasha would give Steve.

At first, it was nice to be able to have company around all day. As the day went on, however, it seemed to drag on and on and on. Steve started to sink into himself as if the whole experience drained every drop of his being.

_You shouldn’t be here. You should be dead. Frozen in the middle of nowhere and dead._

_Why do you get a second chance at life but Bucky doesn’t?_

_How dare you live after you should have died?_

_You’re despicable, Rogers. Despicable._

A hand settled on Steve’s shoulder and it took everything in him not to jump. “I think we’re ready to go,” Natasha announced. Steve nodded, blindly following after her like a duckling after his mother. She guided him out the store, down the block, and into a nice, lush vehicle decked in red and gold.

“Clint’s right?” Steve smirked, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“How’d you guess?” Natasha replied distractedly, engaged in her phone.

They drove in silence to the Stark Tower where they were escorted to Tony Stark’s private penthouse. “You look great,” Natasha told him as she straightened out his crisp, new black button up and his new bright blue tie.

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled. She gave him a tight, small smile and turned to face the door just as they opened.

The penthouse was decorated in red, white, and blue. There were American flags and banners, all sorts of food and booze neatly placed around the room. And people, oh so many people. There were people dressed in suits and others in casual clothing. Some were holding champagne flutes, others cameras, and recorders.

Tony sauntered over, glass in hand. “Steve, Natasha, glad to see you two could finally make it!” He turned to Steve briefly, “Happy birthday, Cap!” Tony turned to face Natasha full on, “Did you get the old man a new wardrobe? Or are we going to have to suffer through the grandpa look some more?”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled.

Natasha patted his arm. “He’s all set. I am going to find Clint. Good luck, Cap.” Steve and Tony watched her glide away, the silence between them festering.

Tony nodded for Steve to follow him and the genius guided him through the room. “Welcome to your birthday party, Rogers! The big ninety-four!” Tony gestured to the room with a wide swoop of his hand. He snatched a champagne flute off a waiter’s tray and shoved it into Steve’s hand. “Drink this, I promise it’s better than whatever bootleg booze you were drinking during the prohibition.”

“I didn’t drink during the prohibition,” he sighed with a pointed look, “Besides I can’t drink.” Steve carefully handed the glass back to the waiter, an apologetic smile on his blushing face.

“Is it because of the serum?” Tony seemed to perk up like a child. “You know, Banner used to study your little serum? It’s actually how he developed the Other Guy. You should come over and let him take a look some day. I’m sure he’d be ecstatic.”

Steve nodded along as Tony dragged him this way and that, jabbering away about science and useless introductions whenever he spotted someone he knew that Steve didn’t (pretty much all of them). His head was throbbing and it was taking far more energy than usual to keep him upright. Not that anyone noticed.

Tony was still talking, this time with Bruce. Steve carefully made his escape and left the scene to find someone he knew that would actually consider him more than the suit and the role.

He didn’t have any luck.

Instead, he found a tall brunette with thick square glasses and a professional looking bun. She was dressed in a nice shirt and skirt combination and had this weird necklace around her neck with a little note card tucked in. Steve watched as she sipped at her champagne and typed on her phone before she glanced up at him. He could feel his face grow warm, surely becoming a bright pink as he stood in his place. The woman smiled and flagged him down, motioning for him to come over using the hand holding her phone.

Reluctantly, Steve walked over as smoothly as he could. “Hi,” he answered dumbly, blushing even harder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I was just looking for someone I work with and you just happened to be standing where I thought he was supposed to be and-

A bubbly laugh interrupted his rambling. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I was hoping I’d get to speak to you tonight, anyhow.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “You were?”

“Of course,” the woman beamed, “Everyone’s curious about the newest Captain America.”

Steve felt his shoulders tense up in the slightest as he tried to keep his composure. “Oh, yeah, sure. Ugh, what do you want to talk about?” He glanced down at his feet, eyes just barely catching the note card that read ‘press’ in big letters. A sigh built up in his chest, ready to be set free, but Steve struggled to act as nonchalant and composed as he could.

He put on his Captain America face and let the ease of the character settle over him.

“First off, do you mind if I record this?” Steve shook his head. Her smile grew just a little and she continued, “Do you have similar powers to Captain America or are you strictly trained for combat, particularly the techniques Captain America seemed to enjoy using?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, unsure how to proceed. “I’m not sure what you mean? I’m the original Captain America.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really?”

“Why would I lie about such a thing?” Steve questioned, arms crossed.

“Do you understand that dismissing a national icon like Captain America for your own personal fame is ludicrous and offensive? For those of us who grew up on tales of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, we cherish the memory of the Captain and what he did for our country. For you to waltz in here with a similar costume and his a replica of his shield claiming to be _the_ Captain America is,” she sighed in frustration, “uncalled for.” Her voice had sharpened, growing in ferocity as her jaw set.

“I’m sorry, but I think we have a misunderstanding,” Steve tried, hands raised in defense. “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to say, if I’m quite honest, but I can try and explain if you’d like me to.”

She crossed her arms. “I suppose that’d be helpful,” she huffed. “Follow me, we’ll go to the balcony.” The woman spun on her heel and sashayed off towards the balcony doors on the far side of the room. Steve followed behind her awkwardly, apologizing to those he bumped into or stepped on.

The balcony showcased a spectacular view of New York City, tall enough to show more than just Manhattan, but glimpses the neighboring boroughs as well. Steve settled against the railing, still amazed by how much has changed in his beloved city and how much has remained the same.

“Okay, explain.” The woman ordered, her phone outstretched to catch all of his words.

“My name is Steve Rogers and I was born in 1918. In 1945, I was on a plane named the Valkyrie with Johann Schmidt, the leader of the Nazi science division Hydra. With all the fighting between he and I, the plane started to weaken. Eventually, after Johann had destroyed himself, I was left to figure out how to keep the bombs-”

“Away from the US and by doing so, you crashed the plane into the Arctic. Yes, we all know the story of Captain America’s Greatest Sacrifice,” the woman dismissed. “How exactly does that relate to you?”

“Because I’m Captain America. Something with the serum caused me to survive in the ice for sixty-seven years and once an exploration team dug me out, I was alive and conscious again,” Steve exasperated.

The woman still looked skeptical. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Steve looped his thumb around the small chain around his neck and pulled out his dog tags. “Is this proof enough for you?”

And sure enough, it was.

Once the woman was convinced, she shot question after question at him.

“Why have you waited so long to announced that it’s really you?”

“What do you like the most about the twenty-first century?”

“What’s the biggest shock beside being in another century that you still can’t believe?”

“How have you been coping with everything?”

“Are you still in the military or are you freelancing your services?”

“What’s it like being the leader of the Avengers?”

“How are the other Avengers coping with you being here?”

“Are the Avengers anything like the Howling Commandos?”

“Have you met up with other surviving Commandos since you’ve been awake?”

“Do you remember anything from the ice?”

“How long have you been awake?”

“What is the Avenger’s role in society?”

Steve felt like his head was about to explode. _If you’d just kept your mouth shut and minded your own business, this wouldn’t be happening. You were doing just fine without anyone knowing your true identity and now you’ve gone and fucked it all up. Good job, Rogers._

_You should just disappear. No, you should have just died. You shouldn’t be here, you don’t deserve it. You’ve gone and ruined it all. Everyone’s going to hate you now. Isn’t that just swell?_

“I’m sorry,” he stopped her before she could ask another question, “I need to go meet up with someone. It was nice talking to you, really.” With that, Steve disappeared back into the party in search of a familiar face.

Thor popped up in front of him and Steve deflated with relief. “Steven! The happiest of birthdays to you!” Thor bellowed, clapping a hand on the captain’s shoulder.

Steve blushed. “Thanks, Thor. How was Asgard?”

Thor’s face darkened. “Things are not what they used to be in my home. There is tension between my mother and my father over Loki. Things are not doing as well as I would like.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve told him.

A grin appeared on Thor’s face, the shadows dispersed almost immediately. “It’s quite alright, Steven. Enough about me, how is the great captain on his ninety-fourth birthday? I remember my ninety-fourth, quite a feast we had!”

Steve laughed as Thor slung an arm around his neck. “I’m okay, I guess. I don’t really feel like I’m supposed to be here,” he admitted.

“Is it because this is not your time?” the Prince of Asgard asked quietly.

The blond shrugged under the weight of Thor’s arm. “I’m not sure. Maybe? Probably?” Steve shrugged again, not meeting the man’s eyes. “It doesn’t help that I’m the only sober person among a bunch of drunks.”

Thor chuckled, the noise vibrating through the air. “I can understand. You, humans, are quite weak when it comes to the alcoholic beverages.” Thor held up his beer bottle so Steve could see the liquid swirling near the bottom, only a swig or so left. “This is nothing compared to the mead my people and I consume. Now that,” he pointed the bottle at Steve, “is a fun time.” Thor brought the bottle to his lips and tipped the bottle back until the last drop was gone.

“Is it stronger than this?” Steve nodded towards the empty bottle with a raised eyebrow, interest piqued.

“Much so. It may be strong enough for you to feel, my dear captain,” Thor replied. Steve could see his eyes start to twinkle with mischief. “In fact, the next time I visit Midgard, I shall bring a bottle of mead for you to try. You have my word.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, Thor. I’ll be sure to mark my calendar.”

Thor clapped Steve’s shoulder once more before he excused himself to find another beer. Steve stayed put, a content smile on his face. Thor, an alien prince or god or whatever, was just as different as Steve was. He came from a different planet complete with a different culture and history, different expectations. Steve may have been from the same planet as the other Avengers, or even the other humans, but he came from a different time that may as well be another planet. The times were different, the way people were expected to act and speak had changed. Hell, everything changed.

Steve didn’t feel so alone with Thor around.

“Hey Cap! Come on, the fireworks are starting!” Clint called from the loft area that hovered over half the main floor. Steve glanced up to see his fellow Avengers waiting for him, all five of them with expectant smiles and pink cheeks from the drinks in their hands (except for Natasha, her face remained as cool and collective as ever, although the smallest of smiles did seem to twitch at her lips).

He shook his head and made his way towards the staircase.

“Took you long enough,” Tony started, “is your hip bothering you? Or is it your knees?”

“Maybe we should invest in getting you an oxygen tank? I can see you trying to conceal your wheezes,” Clint added. Steve’s chest tightened at the remark, the haunting memories of asthma attacks dancing behind his eyes.

“An oxygen tank?” Steve mumbled.

Natasha smiled at him as she came over to take his arm, “Don’t worry about it, Grandpa. Let’s just go watch the fireworks.”

“And if the noise is too loud, we can turn down your hearing aids!” Clint added with a snicker. Tony laughed beside him, the clink of their drinks echoing in Steve’s ears.

Natasha guided him to the roof, letting the other Avengers follow behind them. “Is this what you expected for your birthday?” she whispered in his ear.

“No,” he answered honestly, “I was really expecting to spend the day alone.”

“Do you regret all of this? Would you rather go home?” Her voice was soft and understanding as if to convey that she would be okay if Steve would rather have been at home all day than with her.

Steve shook his head and smiled down at the pretty redhead on his arm. “No. I enjoyed today. Thank you,” he whispered the last line. She gave him a secretive, soft smile before her eyes looked forward as they neared the edge of the roof.

If he was honest, Steve hated today. He did enjoy the company, spending the day with Natasha, but at the same time, he hated it. Being around Natasha was easy, sure, but she still didn’t see Steve for Steve. She saw him as Captain America, whether she admitted it or not. She didn’t care for him out of the goodness of her heart, rather because her boss asked her to play nice with the kid who came out of the ice.

Today just showed Steve how he’s really seen. People don’t care about him, they care about Captain America. They need Captain America and in turn, that means keeping Steve happy and healthy. It’s not an act of compassion, it’s a strategic need.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like the company. Spending the day with someone to occasionally chat with was enjoyable, even if they didn’t talk constantly or about much.

It occurred to Steve, standing against the roof’s edge with Natasha on one side and Thor on the other, that he missed human contact. He was so used to having people around back in the day, from always touching Bucky in some manner to the lazy hugs he’d share with his mom whenever they happened to be close. Steve is an affectionate person and suddenly he’s been stripped of this contact to the point he’s starving for some sort of human interaction.

_How pathetic! You can’t even touch another person platonically without getting all weepy._

Steve shook his head and tried desperately to stay out of his thoughts. He listened to Clint and Natasha debate on what was better: handguns or archery, he listened to Tony and Bruce argue the logistics of some new project the two were playing with, he listened to Thor speak with another guest about how different this world was to his. He listened to everyone live their lives while he was just an outsider desperately trying to fit in.

The first firework shot through the sky with a hiss, trailing a bright blue as it soared higher and higher. It was eerily quiet and then a burst of light sounded with a bang. A chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ filtered through the audience.

Steve watched as the blue lights started to fade, trickling down just as a flurry of fireworks shot up after it. The dark evening sky was bright with a mass of blues, reds, and the occasional white.

He’d never seen fireworks up so close.

It still didn’t compare to the numerous birthdays he spent lounging on the roof with Bucky, waiting until the fireworks came on all day long.

He couldn’t help but think back to one of his favorites, his twelfth birthday in 1930.

_Bucky had been a grinning mess as he shook his head and grabbed Steve’s hand. Then, with a giddy laugh from Steve, he ran out the door and all the way up the three flights of stairs to the rooftop._

_On the roof, Bucky had set up a small tent made of an old sheet and held down by cement blocks left laying around by the people who built the place. Inside, he had board games, sketchbooks, art stuff, books, and anything else he could find that Steve loved to do._

_Steve’s face lit up at the sight of the tent and he was absolutely giddy when he saw the contents of the tent. “Wow Buck, you did all this for me?”_

_“What can I say? I wanted to make your birthday special, kid. I hope it’s okay, my parents wouldn’t let me do anything else-” Steve cut off Bucky by hugging him tightly. “‘M glad you like it.”_

_“It’s real swell. Thank you.” Steve eventually let Bucky go and crawled into the tent. There were pillows covering the floor, making the cold cement floor just a little more inviting. Steve’s already large grin widened as he plopped down on one side of the tent._ Nothing could top this. _They settled into their spots opposite of each other and for the rest of the day, they spent it in that tent and enjoyed each other’s company._

 _Steve had taken to drawing Bucky and the tent, making sure to get every detail he possibly could._ One day, I’ll paint this with really nice paints and put it in a nice frame to hang up in my room. Or I’ll give it to Bucky as a thank you gift _, he thought as his hand shaded the pile of books beside Bucky’s foot. He glanced up, watching as Bucky’s eyebrows furrow just enough to create a little wrinkle on his brow like they always did when he was concentrating really hard. “What are you thinking about?” Steve asked._

_Bucky snapped out of his thoughts, the wrinkle smoothing momentarily. The brunet smirked and squirmed a little now that he wasn’t focused on something else. “That you better not make my eyebrows look weird,” Bucky replied._

_“Not my fault they look weird already.”_

_“I suppose not.”_

_They had to leave for dinner. But they came back to pull the sheet down. Bucky leaned against the chair he brought up to make the tent, his arms wrapped around Steve, protecting the blond from the sharp breeze the night had brought. “Think they’ll show up soon?”_

_“It’s dusk and the Fourth of July, I think they’ll show up soon.” Bucky leaned his head on Steve’s and Steve smiled in contentment._

_And then the fireworks burst into the sky. Steve’s face lit up with wonder and excitement, the colors dancing across his face in waves. The two of them watched the fireworks side by side, curled up into one another happily. Steve could feel Bucky’s head turning every now and then to watch him watch the fireworks, but he didn’t mind._

_“Happy birthday, Stevie.”_

_“Thanks, Bucky. For everything.” Steve turned and hugged the boy as tight as he could, never wanting to leave that moment._

Steve could feel his eyes watering ever so slightly. He quickly blinked the almost tears away and took a deep breath, trying to focus on this moment, not his past. Bucky wouldn’t want him dwelling on the past when he could be embracing the time he was given a new set of friends.

He just couldn’t let go, not to Bucky. Not ever.

_If only you’d reached a little farther, then none of this would be happening and you could have Bucky in your arms. You did this to yourself. This is all your fault._

Steve couldn’t bring himself to argue.

# ~*~*~*~

It had been a long day and an even longer mission. It was a simple transportation mission, one in which Steve and Natasha had been assigned to take three scientists across the globe safely and securely. It was supposed to be simple and easy, a good filler mission to get Steve ready for the next big one. Little did Fury know his intel wasn’t completely accurate and the scientists were being held hostage by a group of mercenaries. Steve and Natasha got the scientists out easily and completed the mission after taking out the mercs, but all the hand-to-hand combat and traveling had really taken a toll on Steve’s body.

Steve trudged into the apartment, his boots scuffing the floor. He was too tired to care. All he wanted to do was shower and sleep and never leave his bed again. (That wouldn’t be hard to do, given that he’s starting to find it harder and harder to get up in the morning for reasons he’s not sure why.)

The captain marched into his bedroom and went straight to his attached bathroom. Steve started the shower, turning the water as hot as it’d go. He’d rather have it scalding than the slightest bit of cold. He toed off his boots and stripped out of his uniform, piece by piece. He placed the uniform on the closed toilet lid and gently placed his weapons on the sink.

His eyes caught himself in the mirror and he didn’t like what he saw. There was a distinct line that went along the edge of his helmet, outlining where the blue mask was with a layer of dirt and grime. If he looked close enough he could see the smallest drops of blood splatter that dotted his cheeks and chin. His hair was a mess, sticking out in various directions without a care in the world. And that was just his appearance.

Steve hated what the serum did to him. He was strong now and faster than he could ever imagine, but he didn’t feel like Steve anymore. It was different when he felt like what he was doing was for the good of the people, that fighting in the war meant something more than just fighting. You were protecting the innocent, battling for your country in order to keep the bullies out. Now? What was he fighting for? What was he trying to protect?

If he’s honest with himself, he’s never been comfortable with his body. Before the serum, he was too skinny, too pale, and too sickly. Now he’s too big, too bulky, and too strong. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to make his limbs feel like his own. The only person who made him feel like he was just as he should be is dead now and they aren’t coming back.

Steve stepped into the shower before he could make anything worse. He didn’t look down, just blindly washed his body without a single glance. It was the only way to keep the thoughts at bay.

The water felt great pounding on his skin in a constant assault of scalding water. It kept him in the present, kept him from wandering off in his mind and to the past. Steve let the water cascade over his body, over his head, and down his back. He stayed there, letting the water run and run and run.

In reality, the water was slowly growing cooler, but Steve didn’t notice. He didn’t notice the change in temperature until the water was suddenly coming down in briskly cold streams onto his hot body.

He gasped and suddenly he wasn’t in the shower anymore.

_The plane crashed into the ice, sending freezing water splashing through the already broken windshield._

_Steve swallowed a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the plane’s momentum sent the aircraft deeper into the ice. The cab filled with water, surrounding Steve instantly. He struggled to get out, trying to break the seatbelt latch without opening his eyes or letting out his air supply too quickly._

_But it was no use, his exhaled sooner than he intended. He was practically wheezing, just like he used to when the asthma was rough, and his chest was clenched with anxiety._

_The water was rising rapidly, quickly reaching his shoulders and completely submerging him into the ice. He gasped, trying to get as much air as he could in as little time as he had. The plane was still moving, sliding across the ice and plunging further into the water._

_He was freezing, shaking violently as he did his best to get out of his confines. His eyes shot open, blinking against the icy water that had splashed his face. He scanned for an exit, anything he could do to save himself._

_By the time he figured out a plan, it was too late and he was still stuck in his seat. The water was up to his chin now, dangerously close to filling his airways. He sealed his mouth shut, squeezed his eyes closed again, and thrashed against the seat. Steve’s arms were weak and his legs weaker, his limbs too busy shivering._

_Steve was submerged at once, the plane shifting one final time deeper into the water. It didn’t take long for the water to infiltrate his body through his nostrils, filling his labored lungs with water. He sputtered a bit at the sensation, only letting more water in._

_His body started to move slower in the water, his suit weighing him down._

_He opened his eyes for a moment, but his vision was darkening with each passing second._

Steve gasped as he came to. He was shivering, lying naked on the bathroom floor surrounded by glass. He must have broken the shower door when he was reliving the crash and tripped over his boots.

His teeth were chattering so hard and he could barely see through the tears and leftover water droplets that had clung to his face. The water was still going, spraying the floor and bathroom wall where the glass door had been. His legs felt like jello and his hands were shaking, but he had to get up and get to warmth. He needed to be warm. 

Steve could hardly breathe, his lungs working overtime as his chest stayed tight and constricting. The glass was stuck in his skin, little fragments poking into the wet planes.

Carefully, he grabbed a hold of the counter with a shaky hand and pulled himself up onto his knees. His legs were too unsteady to stand, but the shower was creating a bigger mess and he didn’t have much of a choice. Steve crawled over the glass shards and steadied himself against the frame of the shower so he could reach the handle. With the water shut off, Steve could focus on getting to warmth.

He crawled out of the bathroom, not even bothering to worry about the glass on the floor or how much had dug into his skin just yet. He just needed warmth, anything to keep him warm.

Steve reached the bed and pulled all of his sheets and blankets off and onto the floor. He quickly wrapped them around himself, the energy draining from his mind with each move of his limbs.

The blankets were slowly warming him up, as much as he could get at least (Steve had come to accept the fact that he may never be truly warm again). Between the warmth and his lack of energy, Steve fell asleep, laying on the floor in nothing but a heap of blankets that were slowly collecting the water and blood off his body.

The next morning, Steve was woken up by gentle hands pulling him out of the blankets. His eyes fluttered open to meet a pair of concerned green eyes. “Steve,” Natasha spoke softly, “are you okay?”

He sat up and winced, the glass digging into his skin as he moved. “Not really,” he mumbled, eyes cast to the blankets still wrapped around his body.

She didn’t ask why or what happened, Natasha simply nodded and helped him out of his cocoon. With careful, precise hands, the agent started the tedious process of digging the glass fragments out of his skin and patching up the bigger wounds.

Steve did his best not to meet her gaze whenever he felt her eyes glance up at him or to blush as she maneuvered his naked body this way and that. He couldn’t help it, but he tried.

_This is pathetic. You can’t even take a shower without ruining it! And now, one of the most beautiful women to grace this earth is digging glass out of our ass. Nice one. You did a real good job here, Steve._

“I think I got most of them,” she mumbled. “I’ll get you some clean clothes. You stay there.” Natasha had wrapped his shoulders in a fuzzy blanket before she stood to dig around his drawers.

“Thank you,” Steve squeaked as she helped him into a clean pair of boxer briefs and pajama pants.

Natasha’s usually calm face still held concern, but her smile was genuinely warm - the first true smile Steve had ever seen her give. “Don’t worry about it. You’d do the same for me.”

Steve hesitated, but nodded nonetheless. “Can we. . .?”

“Keep this between you and me?” Natasha supplied. Steve nodded, his face growing brighter. “Planned on it.” She turned to clean up her supplies and the heap of bloody blankets. “You go lay down in the living room. I’ll clean all this up and fix you something to eat.”

Steve shook his head in protest, “No, Natasha, you’ve already done so much. I-”

She held up a hand and raised an eyebrow in one swift motion, stopping him completely. “Steve, you’re not okay. You need someone to take care of you right now and I’m more than willing to do that,” she told him. She looked away for a moment and whispered, “It’s what I wish someone would have done for me when I came here.” Natasha shook her head, her usual ferocity returning to her features. “That doesn’t matter. Now go lay down.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve mumbled with a lazy salute. He tugged the blanket over his shoulders a little more and started for the door, limping a little with his sore body.

“And Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Nat.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It is what my friends call me after all.”

Steve didn’t turn around, but he was sure she could hear the smile on his face like he could hear hers.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you want to see in the future for this story, I'm pretty flexible with most of the planning right now. 
> 
> By the way, I'm doing Camp Nanowrimo next month so I won't be writing this at all. And then there's graduation and my birthday and exams. . . I'm booked completely. I'm sorry, but there won't be another chapter until the end of May, maybe the middle. 
> 
> Come visit us on tumblr at thesteveandbuckystory.tumblr.com 
> 
> Comments would be appreciated! Until next time. - J & E xxxx


	3. 2012 - Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There's a bit of homophobic language said by one of the main characters, but it isn't used in an intentionally negative way. Believe me, it made me cringe having to write it, but you'll understand. I still felt like it needed to be tagged and warned. 
> 
> Unedited.
> 
> Enjoy! ~ J xx

#  _ Chapter Two _

  
  


**2012**

 

A newspaper fell in front of Steve. In big letters, it read “The Man Out of Time,” with a picture of Captain America fighting in the Battle of New York beneath it. 

 

“You know what this is?” Fury asked, his voice oddly gentle, yet still commanding.

 

Steve blushed and nodded. “I’m sorry, sir. A lady spoke to me at Tony’s party and-” 

 

“Did you not realize she was a reporter?” Fury raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he leaned against his desk.

 

“I didn’t realize she was until we’d already started talking and then one thing led to another,” he trailed off, his head falling forward in shame.

 

Fury patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. We were planning on announcing your status as Captain America and give most of the details sooner or later. Don’t tell anyone this, but I wasn’t sure if you were ready to go public. I wanted to give you some time to acclimate to this century. Looks like you were ready, though,” he motioned to the newspaper in front of Steve.

 

Steve sat up a little. “Am I in trouble, or?” 

 

“You’re not in trouble,” Steve could have sworn he heard humor in Fury’s voice, “you just came out a little earlier than expected.”

 

“Came out?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

Fury waved him off. “It’s an expression. Anyway, I’ve got PR working on containing this and making sure we have everything under control. You’re the new face of the Avengers, Cap. Prepare to be bombarded.” Fury moved to sit in his desk. “You’ve got training with PR. They’ll show you how to act-”

 

“You do realize I was a public figure before I was a soldier, correct?” Steve mused, already moving towards the door. 

 

The corner of Fury’s lips twitched upwards, “That may be true, but times have changed. Good luck, Rogers.” 

 

Steve traveled down to the Public Relations floor where an excited young woman met him just outside the elevator. “Good morning, Captain, sir,” she exclaimed, saluting with a pen in her hand. 

 

It took everything in him not to cringe. “Morning,” he replied instead. “I’m here for training?”

 

“And I’m here to take you to training. My name is Denise, I’m a communications intern here at S.H.I.E.L.D.” Denise stuck out her hand, her pen now tucked behind her ear. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, sir.” 

 

“Likewise,” he mumbled. He cleared his throat, “Should we?” He pointed to the hallway, already moving in that direction.

“Right this way,” Denise commented as she led him down the hall. “You know how to project your voice, I assume, and entertain, correct?”

 

“As much as the USO taught me,” Steve answered.

 

“So we shouldn’t have to focus too terribly much on that. What about interviews? I saw the one you gave that lady from the Tribune,” Denise glanced back at him with a curl to her lip, “and you need some work.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You never give all of your information away. You give enough to appease them, but never lead on that you know more than you’re giving. Especially when it concerns S.H.I.E.L.D. and it’s projects.” Denise waved her hand in front of them. “Your trainer, Polly Reagan, will explain all of that and help you keep things to yourself.” 

 

Steve sighed, “Great.” 

 

He spent hours on the PR floor. Polly, a middle-aged woman with a tight blond bun and a pencil skirt, walked him through the interview process multiple times. She scolded him whenever his eyebrows furrowed when they weren’t supposed to or when his smile seemed a bit too fake. She taught him what to say and how to say it to keep as much information to himself. She walked him through TV interviews for after big, public battles like the Battle of New York. 

 

Steve was exhausted by the time he was free to go home.

 

Being public didn’t hit him until he was on his way to meet Daisy and her granddaughter for coffee on the other side of Manhattan the next day. Steve had been meeting with Daisy almost everyday since they reunited and Daisy seemed just as enthusiastic as he was about the ordeal. He’d tug a ball cap over his head, grab a jacket, and head out with his keys, wallet, and phone in his hand as if he weren’t a super soldier from the 40’s. 

 

It didn’t occur to him that people would start to recognize him. 

 

Since it was raining, Steve opted out of riding his bike the short distance to the cafe Daisy had picked out for their coffee date. He hated how the rain, no matter how light it was, hit his face as he sped down the street. Therefore, he was left with taking the subway. 

 

In the few months in this century, Steve hadn’t ridden the subway too often. He liked the convenience of it and how it hadn’t changed all that much since the 40’s, but there was (and would always be) a part of him that was reminded of Bucky whenever he set foot on a train. 

 

Nevertheless, Steve made the decision to bear the hassle of taking the subway. 

 

At first, things were okay. It was hectic and bustling and energetic, but okay. Steve managed to get himself onto the correct train and hide in the back corner, away from most of the crowd. 

 

That didn’t stop them from recognizing him, however. A couple of teens were taking pictures of him and giggling; a man in a business suit who was talking quietly on his phone kept sneaking glances over at him; an older woman was blatantly staring at him. 

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept his head down and the bill of his ballcap tucked low over his eyes. 

 

It wasn’t until the next stop that things got ugly. 

 

A group of people with big cameras entered the subway, not even trying to be conspicuous. They settled into seats and standing close to the doors nearest Steve and, as if on rotation,  two of them always had their cameras pointed in his direction. 

 

He was starting to freak out. Riding the subway was hard enough without all of the attention. . .

 

Steve took a deep breath and tried to relax. His stop was next, he could get off and go see Daisy and her granddaughter Marie to enjoy the afternoon. All he had to do was get off this damn train.

 

The train came to a slow stop, easing into the platform. Steve stood and made his way to the doors, composed but purposed. As soon as he escaped, a weight lifted off his chest and the need to get away diminishing with each step. 

 

It only took him a few steps to realize the people with cameras had started to follow him. 

 

He walked faster, his pace brisk and motivated but still collected. Steve turned the corner, right into a reporter. “Captain America, what’s it like to live in New York?” he asked, shoving a microphone in his face. 

 

“I’m sorry, I have somewhere to be,” he mumbled. Steve did his best to walk around the man, but he insisted on following. 

 

Cameras were clicking, people were shouting, pedestrians had started to stop in their paths. . . It was all too much. 

 

A car parked just beside him and the door was pushed open, hitting him in the leg. “Let’s go, Rogers,” a young and familiar voice called. Steve didn’t argue. He jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door, allowing the driver to pull off the curb.

 

“I saw your face plastered all over the Internet,” the voice said from the backseat. Steve turned in his seat to see Marie leaning forward to stick her head between the driver and passenger seats and her grandmother driving his getaway car. “I figured you’d have a hard time getting to the cafe.” 

 

“Thank you for saving me,” he told them both.

 

“First time for everything,” Daisy giggled. 

 

Steve beamed at her, his anxiety and adrenaline sweeping away. “That there is.” 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

Steve unwrapped his hands with a practiced ease. He remembers Bucky talking him through it whenever he would wrap up his hands before a big match. ( _ “Alright, Stevie, go slowly so you can keep it even and so it doesn’t get too tight or too loose.” “Like this?” “Yeah, that’s it.” “Do I keep going?” “Yup, gotta have a good layer of protection.” “How ‘bout that?” “S’perfect, Stevie. Thank you, babydoll _ .”) Bucky would probably be yelling at him for going too quickly while he unwrapped and to be careful of his sore knuckles if he were here. 

 

With a heavy sigh, Steve reminded himself that he wasn’t. 

 

He turned to gather his things and clean the punching bag he’d been hitting. That’s how Tony found him, a towel in his hand and a look of concentration on his face. “Capsicle! How’s my favorite prehistoric creature doing on this beautiful afternoon?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Funny.” He tossed the towel into his bag and placed his hands on his hips. “Whatcha need, Stark?” 

 

Tony shrugged and looked around the vacant training room. “Nothing, just figured you might not have anything to do tonight what with all of your dinosaur friends being extinct and everything.” 

 

The blond nodded and crossed his arms. “So where’d Pepper go to this time?” He asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

 

A scoff was all he got as a response at first before Tony gave a resigned sigh. “Okay, she’s in Italy for a conference with some big CEOs you wouldn’t know a thing about and I couldn’t go because I have deadlines to meet-”

 

“And you’re a distraction?” Steve added, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Not the point.” 

 

Steve shrugged, turning to gather his things again. “Where’s Bruce?”

 

Tony was silent for a moment. “A meditation retreat in California for the month.” 

 

“And Colonel Rhodes?”

 

Another pause. “DC.”

 

“And Clint?”

 

He pointed a finger in Steve’s direction, “Okay, you know what Captain Smart-ass? I traveled halfway across town-”

 

“It’s only a few blocks?”

 

“Halfway across town to come get your sorry self and take you out for a good time. Are you in or not?” Tony huffed. 

 

Steve sighed. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Just a calm and relaxing night between the two of us. I’ll show you around town, take you to a couple of bars, maybe a dance club or two. We can grab a few drinks - or I can, Mr. Perpetually Sober - and get dinner. Just a nice night out between a couple of Avengers,” Tony explained. 

 

He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

 

Tony clapped his hands. “Brilliant. Go home and shower, you reek. Dress in something nice, okay? I’ll have someone pick you up at seven-thirty. See ya Cap!” Steve waited until the door slammed shut behind him before he shook his head. 

 

“This is not what I call ‘a calm and relaxing night,’ Stark,” Steve grumbled over the music. 

 

Tony had dragged him to one of the most popular clubs this side of Manhattan and Steve was horrified. Women were dressed in tight clothes that barely covered anything and they were dancing with each other and random men in the most obscene ways. The music was loud and vulgar, thumping through the air at a constant beat. 

 

“It’s not that bad!” Tony laughed. “C’mon, lighten up!” He threw back his drink and grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief under the multicolored flashing lights. 

 

“Is this normal?” He asked again.

 

“Oh, I forgot this may not be your speed. Welcome to the new world, Rogers!” Tony waved his hands in front of the scene behind them before he settled into the booth they had taken in the V.I.P section. “But to answer your question, it very much so is normal. I’m not even sure what you were asking about specifically, but everything you see here is normal behavior for reckless young adults and teenagers these days.” 

 

Steve grimaced and downed his beer. “Did anything stay the same?”

 

Tony thought for a moment before he shook his head and said, “Nope.”

 

“Great,” Steve sighed. 

 

As the night droned on, Steve sat in his little corner listening to the music (if you can call it music) and downing beer after beer despite the lack of buzz he had. Tony was in and out of the booth, going between dancing with random women to taking shots with Steve. The longer they stayed, the worse Tony got.

 

Steve watched with concerned eyes as Tony stumbled to and fro, his incoherent speech babbling to the bartender. “Can I get a couple of waters?” Steve asked the bartender as he grabbed Tony by the arm. 

 

The woman gave him a sympathetic smile and handed over the bottles. Steve thanked her and closed Tony’s tab before he dragged the genius back to their booth. He got him to sit down and sip at the water, but Tony kept talking.

 

“Why’d ya haf to be so nice?” He slurred, glaring at Steve.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve laughed as he opened his own bottle. 

 

“My dad,” Tony started, “used ta talk ‘bout you all the time!” The brunet grimaced, “He used you as a way ta punish me, Steve! He’d say, ‘Anthony-” Tony attempted to imitate Howard’s voice an octave deeper than Steve remembered, “‘you should’a met my good friend Captain America. Now that was a good man, always did the right thing no matter the conse...consequences.’” He took another sip of his water as Steve looked on. “Then he’d go on to tell me to be more like  _ you _ . That I needed to learn somethin’ from the stories he told about  _ you _ . It's not fair, Steve. It’s just not fair.”

 

Steve leaned forward. “No, it isn’t,” he told him softly with a frown. 

 

Tony huffed. “I hated learnin’ ‘bout you in school, ya know? E’ryone would be gushin’ over you in class and I’d be stuck listenin’ to all them go on and on and on and on ‘bout you. It was stupid and boring.”

 

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” Steve said.

 

“Thank you,” Tony sighed. “I’m pretty sure my dad liked you better than he liked me.” 

 

Steve shook his head and cleared his throat. “Now hang on Tony,” he started in his trademark Captain America Voice, “I highly doubt that.”

 

“It’s true!” Tony declared. “He’d go on about you as a way to scold me and he was always scolding me!” 

 

“That doesn’t mean Howard liked me better than you. Hell, we were friends but we weren’t particularly close. There was a war going on, we didn’t have a chance to really become close friends,” Steve explained.

 

“Yeah, well, that didn’t stop him from worshipping you.” Tony sipped at his water. “You were his hero and I was just the kid who looked like him.” 

 

Steve took the bottle from Tony’s hands and forced the man to look at him. “Tony, I’m sorry Howard made you feel that way, especially about me. I can’t speak for him, not really at least, but I knew Howard and he was a good man. A really good man. I doubt that Howard realized how he was making you feel. I know that if Howard knew how you were feeling, he would have changed his ways.” 

 

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re talking about my dad before he even met my mother-”

 

“And he acted just like you do now, you realize that right?” Steve countered. “You should have seen him at the World Expo showing off that flying car of his. He was as charming and collected as you are when you get in front of a crowd and he had all the dames’ attention. When he was in the lab, he was focused on his goal and witty all the same. He was quite the character to watch work, especially when he’d go off on a tangent and start thinkin’ up new ideas right in front of you.” Steve leaned back and took another sip of his water.  “I don’t know how he treated you and I’m not defending him-”

 

“Well it sounds like you are, Captain Righteousness. You don’t even know the half of it!” Tony waved his hands around, splashing water onto the table. Steve glanced down at it, but didn’t move to clean it up. “He never talked to me about any of my stuff. Only to bitch and yell at me for something I did wrong. He never once showed up to anything I did at school, none of my graduations, none of my science fairs or award ceremonies, nothing. And then he had the audacity to say I was the problem! He didn’t care about me. He’d push me away and bitch at me for the stupidest things.” Tony crossed his arms, his expression sobered, but angry. 

 

Steve sat up and sighed. “Tony, I’m really sorry Howard treated you like that. There’s no excuse and no reason he should have. But let me tell you this,” Tony looked at him, unimpressed, “if I had been around, Howard would have been a better father.”

 

“Doubt it. He’d have been too far up your ass to think about me or my mom,” Tony scoffed. 

 

Steve tensed a little at Tony’s choice of words. He took a deep breath and continued, “He’d be a better father because I would not allow him to treat you like that. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.” 

 

Tony gave him a half smile. “Well, thanks for the sentiment Rogers, but let’s be honest here: You’re all talk.” 

 

A dark cloud had started to form between them, bubbling as the conversation prolonged. This was too heavy, too intense for a simple night out with one another, especially since they’d only know each other for a handful of months now. Steve needed to end it now before things escalated. Hell, he needed to get Stark home soon before he drank himself into oblivion. 

 

“Maybe,” Steve replied, “but we’ll never know.” He stood and grabbed their water bottles. “C’mon, it’s getting late and I have a meeting early tomorrow morning.” 

 

Tony whined, but he didn’t put up much of a fight. He did, however, snag a couple of shots off a waitress’ tray to take on the way out the door. Steve had to double back to pay, using Tony’s debit card of course. 

 

A part of Steve didn’t mind the adventure Tony had taken him on tonight, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was too much unsaid between them. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

“Where is she?” 

 

Natasha looked up from the stack of paperwork Maria had her filling out. “You’re going to have to clarify, Old Man.” 

 

Steve closed the door behind him and rested his palms on her desk, their foreheads almost touching. “Peggy Carter, where is she?”

 

Natasha’s lazy smile transformed into a smirk as she put down her pen. “Why do you want to know?”

 

“I may not have much time with her, but I can’t live without her,” Steve answered truthfully. 

 

The redhead stared at him, her green eyes searching for any sign of. . .something. Steve wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for in his face, but he did know she was looking for something. “Are you sure you’re ready?” 

 

“Would I be asking you if I weren’t?”

 

“Touche.” 

 

“So, where is she?” 

 

“DC. I’ll take you,” Natasha answered, already moving to gather her things and leave. 

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes wide. He straightened up, blushing and stuttering over his words, “Right now?” 

 

She paused, smirking. “What, are you scared?” 

 

“Scared? No,” Steve shook his head. He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, his blush darkening and spreading. “Nervous? Definitely.” 

 

“You’ll be okay. You’ve been through worse.” With that, Natasha sashayed out of the room and down the hall of the Triskelion. 

 

The two of them packed a weekend bag and hopped into Natasha’s corvette, speeding off towards DC before the sun set. Steve spent the entire trip trying not to burst with anxiety, his knee bouncing and his knuckle between his teeth. Natasha didn’t say anything directly about it, instead she kept steering him into pointless conversations about work and the news. He saw right through her, however, and he couldn’t be more pleased to have the assassin as his friend.

 

They snagged a hotel room and ventured off into the night so Natasha could show Steve around. “You’ll like it here,” she told him as they walked down a busy sidewalk. 

 

“Why do you say that?” Steve asked, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

 

“Because I have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time in DC,” she retorted. 

 

Natasha showed him around, finding a nice restaurant for the two and making sure he saw where all the monuments were. “I’ll show you those another time,” she promised him, “starting with your exhibit.” 

 

She gave him a quiet night out on the town; nothing too big or crazy, but enough so he wasn’t stuck inside stewing in his own thoughts.

 

That didn’t help his sleep any. 

 

Once they were tucked into their respective beds, Steve couldn’t fall asleep. He was antsy, anxious and all sorts of nervous about the morning’s events. 

 

He was finally going to see Peggy and tell her he’s alive. 

 

Steve didn’t know what to expect.  _ Would she be thrilled to see him? Would she hate him? Would she look like someone else? Or will she be like Daisy and just look delicately aged?  _

 

_ Will she remember him?  _

 

The next morning, his questions were answered.

 

Peggy was in a nursing him a block or two away from the Triskelion. A home that Fury himself monitored just to insure the legendary Agent Carter was kept safe. Natasha and Steve walked down a hallway, led by a plump nurse with a cheery face who was absolutely thrilled to see Steve on Peggy’s visitor list. “Here she is,” the nurse said as she knocked on the door gently. “Agent Carter,” she called softly as she cracked the door open, “you have a very important visitor today.”

 

“Who is it?” a familiar British accent asked.

 

Steve was frozen in his place, hidden in the doorway with tears in his eyes. His fist tightened around the bouquet of roses he held, the paper crinkling under his grip.  “He’s an old friend of your’s,” the nurse said as Natasha entered the room. “Someone you had a very strong relationship with.” Nat glanced at Steve, an eyebrow raised and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Come in,” the nurse called to Steve, “she’s waiting on you!” 

 

_ You can do this, Rogers. Look at what happened with Daisy. You almost ran away because you were scared of the consequences and what she would think, but she ended up being the best thing that’s happened to you since you woke up. You owe Peggy the same amount of respect. She deserves to know who donned the shield again and whether or not her almost-lover is alive.  _

 

He took a deep breath and gave himself a sharp nod. He steeled himself, hiding all of his negative emotions behind a Captain America smile and bracing for the worst. 

 

And then he walked in.

 

Peggy was sitting up in bed, her body aged but just as beautiful as he remembered. “Hi there,” he said softly as he moved closer to her bed.

 

A delicate gasp left her parted, ruby red lips. “Steve? Is it really you?” Her voice was soft and watery, her eyes shining a little more in the light.

 

“It’s really me,” he said as he took a seat.

 

“I thought I lost you,” she cried. 

 

Steve took her hand from off her lap and held it up to his face. “I couldn’t just leave my best girl, now could I? You owe me a dance after all.” That got a watery giggle out of her as he kissed her knuckles. He showed her the roses, blushing a darker red. “These are for you.”

 

Peggy took the flowers gently and grinned. “Oh thank you, Steven! These are beautiful!” She ran a thumb down one petal and brought the flowers to her nose. “Maryanne, will you set these by the window? I want to see them in the light,” Peggy asked gently. Once the flowers were placed on the windowsill, all of her attention was on Steve. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” she sighed wistfully, a frail hand cupping his cheek. “I don’t understand,” she admitted.

 

“I fell into some ice and somehow the serum kept me alive,” he explained, his voice low and quiet. “I took the shield up again-”

 

“You’re Captain America again?” she raised an eyebrow, her tone sharper than he’s heard it in sixty-seven years.

 

“I am,” he mumbled with a dark blush. “The world needed me.”

 

“So did the war,” she countered.

 

Steve sighed. “I had to do it, Peggy. If I didn’t, New York would have been blown to smithereens and it would have been my fault. I could have lost what was left of my family.”

 

Her face turned sympathetic. “I know. I just wish you didn’t have to.” 

 

“Me neither,” he whispered.

 

“I met your family, or rather Barnes’ family,” she told him.

 

A lump in Steve’s throat formed, but he gave her a smile anyway. “I heard. Daisy, his youngest sister, she’s still alive. Told me all about how you and Howard looked after them,” he explained,”and my stuff.” Peggy gave a breathy laugh, beaming with joy. “Thank you for that. I couldn’t have asked for better friends than you and Howard.” 

 

“I think Sergeant Barnes would disagree,” Peggy said with a teasing smirk.

He must have shown his emotions on his face, the Captain America mask slipping, because Peggy asked Natasha and Maryanne to give them some space. As soon as the two left, shutting the door behind them, Peggy held Steve’s face in her hands and whispered, “It’s okay to still grieve him, Steve. I grieved you for years, even after I married my husband and we started a family. I loved you Steve and-”

 

“I loved you too, Peggy. I still do,” he told her earnestly. 

 

“But not as much as you loved James,” she whispered. Steve closed his eyes, a tear already spilling. Peggy wiped it away. “It’s okay. You can say it. I’ve made peace with it.” 

 

“I love him with everything I have, Pegs.” 

 

She gave him a bright smile, her eyes shining. “I know you do and he still loves you. One day, you’ll make peace with your grief and you’ll be able to love someone else as much as you can. He’d want you to, Steven.” 

 

Steve kissed her palm. “When d’you get so wise, Agent Carter?” Steve drawled in his old Brooklyn accent, the one Captain America insists on hiding.

 

“I’ve always been wise,” she countered. 

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Steve chuckled. “Enough about me. Tell me, how’s my best girl been all these years? What lucky fella to did you settle for?”

 

“Settle? Why do you say it like that?” The amusement in her voice had Steve grinning like a fool.

 

“No man is worthy enough to be loved by you, Peggy. Not unless you choose them.” 

 

A soft blush dusted her cheekbones. “You think too highly of me, Steve.” He waved her off and kissed her palm again. “You’ll never believe this, but I actually ended up marrying. . .” she trailed off. Steve waited patiently, watching as she turned away from him as if in deep thought. And that’s when he caught the dull look in her eyes, the twinkle she had had since he walked in diminished. 

 

She turned back to him with a gasp, her eyes growing wet and her red lips forming a perfect ‘o’ that she covered with both palms. “Steven? Is it really you?” she cried.

 

Steve faltered for a moment, unsure what to do. Natasha had warned him about this on the way over, how she may check out of the conversation and forget everything they had just discussed, including him.

 

He took a shaky breath and smiled, his Captain America mask struggling to stay on. “Yeah, Pegs. it’s really me.”

 

“You came back for me,” she sobbed, reaching out to touch him.

 

“Had to see my best girl. She owes me a dance after all,” he said softly. 

 

Maryanne came in not too long after that, claiming that Peggy needed her rest. Steve left her bedside with a kiss to her forehead and a promise to visit often. The elder woman was delighted by the idea and Steve could hear her rambling to Maryanne about it as he slipped out the room. 

 

He could feel himself shutting down, all of his emotions draining and his movements sluggish. Steve knew this feeling, he knew it fairly well since he’d woken up. He was on the verge of a breakdown. 

 

Natasha guided him back to the hotel room and set him down on his bed. He didn’t say a word and she didn’t push. She sat beside him, their thighs touching and nothing else.

 

They sat like that for a good hour before Natasha glanced over at Steve’s profile, her calculating gaze finding every break in his theoretical mask. “Come here,” she said softly as she opened her arms up.

 

And Steve broke. Big, loud sobs ripped through him as he collapsed into Natasha’s arms. His body shook with each cry and all he could do was grip her waist tighter and pray that this embarrassing nightmare would end.

 

Nat didn’t ridicule him. She didn’t say anything for the occasional “breathe” as she rubbed his back. When Steve’s sobs grew softer, she began to sing a lullaby in her native tongue, whispering in his words the soothing melody. Eventually Steve fell asleep and all Natasha could do was hold him tight.

 

Neither would talk about the scene they caused in the hotel room, but as a consequence, Natasha couldn’t help but feel for the lonely Captain from another time. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

Steve walked into the conference room in his S.H.I.E.L.D. issued sweats with a towel slung behind his neck. “Is everything okay?” He asked, immediately finding his seat at beside Clint. 

 

“Don’t know yet. Stark called the emergency meeting, but he’s not here yet,” Nat explained boredly as she messed with her phone. 

 

“Ten bucks this isn’t an actual emergency,” Clint grumbled. 

 

“What makes you think it won’t be an actual emergency?” Tony said as he sauntered in. 

 

“You called it, didn’t you?” Clint retorted.

 

Tony gave a sarcastic laugh as he handed out thin booklets. “Thanks for the support, team. I really appreciate it.” 

 

“You are very welcome, my friend,” Thor laughed, clapping Tony on the shoulder as he passed to take his seat. 

 

Steve smirked as he grabbed the booklet set in front of him. He opened the first page and printed on the first page was “Project: Avengers Tower.” Steve looked up to Natasha, who was already half-way through the booklet. She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. 

 

“What exactly are you suggesting, Stark?” Steve asked, giving the booklet a serious glance. 

 

Tony hopped up onto the table and looked over at the captain, “I’m suggesting exactly what you think I’m suggesting.”

 

“That we play house in your tower?” Clint questioned.

 

Bruce raised a hand, silencing Tony before he could speak. “I know it sounds crazy, but after listening to him talk for hours about this,” Bruce sighed and took off his glasses. “It’s not as crazy as you may think.”

 

Tony jumped up and motioned to Bruce, “See? Banner’s in!” 

 

Natasha crossed her arms. “You’re going to need to take us through your thought process, Bruce. Otherwise, I think this is a recipe for disaster.” 

 

“I agree,” Steve said in his ‘Captain America’ voice. He cleared his throat, “We just barely got along enough for the Battle of New York, and even after that was questionable. What gives you the idea that we could live under the same roof?”

 

Tony paced the front of the conference room. “Think about it like this,” he turned to Steve, “if another attack happens or we have an emergency, the team will be in one place with all of our equipment. You’re always talking about how we need to bond as a team, that by bonding our fighting will be stronger and more cohesive. What better way to bond than to live in the same place?” He paused to survey the room, making eager eye contact with each Avenger. He waved off his own thoughts, clearing the air. “Look, I realize it’s not the best idea and it may not be ideal, but it’s done already. I renovated the tower for the Avengers whether you like it or not.”

 

“What did you do?” Natasha asked cautiously, her jaw set and eyes focused on the billionaire. 

 

“I made a few adjustments. The top floors are housing. Each Avenger has their own floor, complete with a training room tailored to your abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. There’s even two floors made into one huge training room for us to practice in that’s big enough for the Big Guy to smash stuff without destroying my tower.” He turned to Bruce with a manic smirk.

 

The doctor sighed, “It’s true. We tested it out.” 

 

Steve and Nat shared a look, both obviously hesitant but neither completely against it. The blond caved first, sitting up in his seat and addressing Tony, “Okay.” 

 

Tony cheered and clapped his hands. “Thank you very much. The Tower is ready when you are-”

 

“Not so fast,” Steve interrupted. He stood from his seat and walked over to the shorter brunet. “We give it a month as a trial run. Those of us who want to stay can and those who wish to leave can.” He looked around toward the other Avengers. “Is that okay with everyone?” 

 

When no one disagreed, Steve adjourned the emergency Avenger meeting. “And Tony,” he said as he stopped in the doorway, “let’s not make it a habit to call fake emergencies.” 

 

“Fake emergencies?” Tony gasped. “I did no such thing!” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile that teased his lips. Of course, he’d deny it the second anyone mentioned it. 

 

Within a week, Tony had arranged for each team member to meet with an interior designer to help design their respective floors. Steve was shocked with how efficient Tony had been with planning and ensuring that the Avengers had a say in how their floor would look and feel. It was a completely new side of Tony that Steve had never seen, one that he was intrigued to figure out more. 

 

Tony and Steve spent Friday with the interior designer, a flamboyant man with a sharp sense of style. They met at an upscale cafe that the Brooklynite would never had stepped foot in if it weren’t for Tony (and his wallet). Tony and Steve arrived first, finding a nice table in the back, out of the line-of-sight from the windows and the front door. 

 

However, Steve, the old-man that the world believed him to be, had absolutely no idea what an interior designer did. “What exactly are we doing today?” he asked after their waiter took their drink orders (a water for Steve and a scotch for Tony). 

 

“Tristan is going to help us design your floor. He’ll pretty much walk you through the process of picking out colors and furniture while making sure you won’t destroy my beautiful tower with your poor fashion choices,” Tony replied with a smirk. Steve scowled at him, ready to retort with an equally condescending reply when Tony waved him off. “I’m kidding. Take a joke, Gramps, and relax. All you have to do is point at things you like and Tristan will take care of the rest.” 

 

Steve’s brow furrowed and his head tilted to the left like a curious puppy, “And that’s it?”

 

“That’s it.” Tony smiled at him without a trace of sarcasm, pity, or arrogance. Steve’s heart warmed at the familiar sight of a genuine Stark smile, one that Howard gave him when Steve understood his long-winded science rant (he never completely understood them, but Howard was always proud when he understood a percentage of what he was talking about). 

 

“Okay,” Steve sighed with relief, “that’s not too terrible.”

 

Tony patted Steve on the shoulder with a smirk, “You just wait.”

 

It turns out, Tristan is very opinionated and a  _ huge _ fan of Captain America. “I am so honored to be here today, designing with you,  _ the Captain America! _ ” The young man said as he sat down, one hand outstretched to shake Steve’s and the other clutching a satchel. 

 

Steve took Tristan’s hand and smiled at him as he, too, sat down. (Steve was raised with manners, you always stand when someone is joining your table. You stand, pull out a lady’s chair if needed and shake hands with a man, and wait until they are seated to seat yourself. Some things never really change.) “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine. Tony says your work is incredible. I’m excited to start working with you today, myself.” 

 

Tristan blushed as he tried to get his things in order to show the two men sitting in front of him. “I’m sorry I’m so late. The train was behind again and my partner insisted we still have coffee together this morning,” he shook his head. Then with a definitive nod he handed Tony and Steve a stack of magazines each. “Anyway, I understand that we’re designing Mr. Rogers’ floor of your building, but I think Mr. Stark can offer some ideas on what you may or may not like given that you two know each other well enough to live together.” Tristan pulled out a notebook and pen, ready to scribble down whatever it was that he needed to take note of.

 

Tony started to flip through the magazine, mumbling comments to himself about how certain color combinations were ugly or cliche. Steve, a bit stunned, hesitantly began to flip through his own magazine. After their drinks arrived, the blond confessed, “I have no idea what I’m looking for.” 

 

“Don’t worry. I have an idea what your style is based on how you dress, your background, and how your previous apartment is designed. I just want to hear what you have to say about what looks like something you’d put inside your home,” Tristan elaborated as he looked up from his notes (what he was scribbling down, Steve had no idea). “Would it be easier to ask you verbal questions?”

 

“Let’s try that,” Tony answered for him. 

 

“These are all hypothetical. All you have to do is picture what your perfect home would look like and respond accordingly, okay?” Tristan started rattling off questions about color schemes and interests, furniture and aesthetics, and how he liked to feel in his home. 

 

Steve did his best to answer the questions as honestly and as detailed as he could. Tony interjected every now and then, countering Steve’s opinions with his own. 

 

Eventually their food came and Tristan put away his magazines and notes. “I think I have enough information to get started. Of course, when we actually start designing, you have the right to veto anything you dislike.” 

 

“Does that apply to Tony, also?” Steve asked, glancing at the billionaire. 

 

Tristan chuckled, “In a sense, yes. However, you have the ultimate veto. Unless it affects the building’s layout and foundation, all vetoes must be reviewed by you, Mr. Rogers. You make the final decision.” 

 

Steve smirked. “Good to know.” 

 

Tony rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth. “Just give him more power, why don’t you?” He stood, “I’ll be right back.” Tony walked off, calling, “Don’t even think about eating my fries, Rogers!” 

 

Steve laughed, snagging one of the fries hanging off of Tony’s plate. “So Tristan,” Steve started, “how long have you been in the interior design business?”

 

“Going on three years. I didn’t even know this is what I wanted until my now partner introduced it to me. He’s a real estate agent” - his expression turned giddy - “and he was struggling to show this apartment at the time we met, so he just happened to ask me what I thought about the design. We spent three weeks designing the house and from then on,” he sighed wistfully, “we’ve been together ever since.” 

 

Tony plopped back down in his seat, glaring at Steve whose hand was currently stealing another fry. “Stupid super soldier and his stupid endless stomach,” he mumbled. 

 

“That’s interesting.” Steve nodded as he stole a sip from his glass. “You and your partner are pretty close, then?”

 

Tristan laughed a little with a goofy grin, “We are  _ very _ close. We’ve been living together for a year and a half, we work together, we spend a majority of our time together,” he trailed off. 

 

Tony let out a snicker, covering his mouth with his hand. Steve glanced at him, eyebrow raised and eyes squinted in suspicion. “What are you laughing at?” 

 

“Nothing,” Tony waved him off. “Please ignore me and continue this conversation. Please,” he insisted. 

 

Wary, Steve turned back to Tristan and gave him an apologetic smile. “Anyway, what’s your partner like? I’m assuming you two work well together?”

 

“He’s a really trustworthy and adventurous, not to mention romantic, but we won’t get into that,” Tristan chuckled. He wiped his face on his napkin and leaned his head on his hand, elbow on the edge of the table. “As for our work relationship, we get along about seventy percent of the time. The other thirty, he gets on my last nerve.” 

 

“I had a friend like that once,” Steve started. “Best friend in the whole world. Super supportive and just an all-around good guy, but sometimes,” he shook his head, “he could get real obnoxious.” Steve glanced at Tony and clapped him on the shoulder. “Like Tony here, but reversed.” 

 

Tony rolled his eyes and went to say something, but Tristan cut in. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re on the same page,” Tristan admitted awkwardly. Steve glanced back at him, noticing his now awkward expression and defensive body language. Tristan cleared his throat, “Captain Rogers, you do realize I don’t mean my work partner, right?” 

 

“You don’t?” Steve asked quietly, growing awkward himself. He was internally closing in on himself, feeling like the butt of a joke that everyone was in on but himself. Tony only validated his feelings by snickering to himself. 

 

Tristan bit his lip. “Cory and I are in a relationship. He’s my  _ life _ partner,” he clarified. 

 

“Life partner? As in…” Steve couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

 

“As in boyfriend, Capsicle. Tristan is gay. A homosexual. Um,” Tony turned to Tristan, “do you know any gay slang from the forties?” Tristan shook his head, meek and, honestly, a little scared. 

 

Steve looked between the two men, confused and embarrassed. He was so flustered that he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “You mean to tell me that fags and queers are out in the open now?” He winced as soon as the words fell from his mouth, the harsh slang bitter on his tongue. He could still hear the bullies calling him by those atrocious names. He could still see those men being beaten to death just because they held hands. 

 

Tristan and Tony were appalled. “ _ Wow _ , Rogers. I didn’t think you could be so offensive.” 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be a symbol of equality,” Tristan whispered in betrayal. “I can’t believe you would,” he shook his head. “I knew people in the forties weren’t very accepting of gays, but everyone always said you were different. You were supposed to protect everyone no matter what they were like.” 

 

Steve gaped, mouth opening and closing. “It’s not- I just-” He stood from the table so fast his glass of water toppled over and his chair fell back. He fumbled to correct the glass and put his chair back in place, barely getting out the words “It was nice to meet you,” before he was scrambling for an exit. 

 

He ran out the restaurant and onto the road, sprinting down the street in between the cars. People honked, some stopped to stare as Captain America out ran car after car, but they were all oblivious to the meltdown happening within the captain. 

 

He wasn’t trying to be offensive, not in the least. He was simply shocked that after all these years of wishing and dreaming of being able to one day walk down the street hand-in-hand with Bucky and not have to worry about someone killing them, that his dream would come true. How could he explain that when they wouldn’t understand? No one would understand. . .

 

There was so much he didn’t know. Tony called Tristan gay; a word that to Steve meant happy and lighthearted, but now means something completely different. He needed to do research and learn about this new development more. 

 

Steve ran home, not stopping until he was up the stairs and in the safety of his apartment. He rushed to the computer and began his quest of knowledge, his eyes prickling with tears. 

 

He’d spent years hiding away with Bucky, keeping their relationship a secret. And now that Bucky was gone, it was legal? How was that fair? 

 

For the next week, Steve was practically glued to his computer. He’d come to learn the history of LGBT rights and all about the sexuality spectrum, along with the terminology. Steve realized that his attraction to men and women was called being bisexual, which eased his burden of confusion. He’d also come to realize that you could no longer be imprisoned for your sexuality, although those laws were only recently taken down completely in the US. Either way, he was relieved. 

 

During that week, Tony’s usually numerous texts dwindled down to the basics. He’d confirm design aspects and plans for the tower and nothing more, his banter completely gone from the conversations. Steve’s heart was a bit broken, confused as to how he should proceed.

 

However, by the time the tower was finished and Steve could move into his new home, Tony was back to his normal chatty self. Neither of them brought up the lunch again, although Steve got in contact with Tristan to apologize for his little outburst. (He mentioned the research - he kept out how much he did, though. He explained to the designer that homosexuality was taboo when he was younger and the shock of hearing of two men being in an open relationship was a bit much for the captain to handle, to which the younger man understood.) 

 

His floor of the tower looked incredible, and Steve was sure to mention that to Tony and Tristan. The large living room was decorated in warm tans and dark browns, complemented by pops of color from some of the artists Steve had mentioned. His bedroom, which was double the size of his old apartment, was painted in his - as Tony called it - trademarked Captain America blue and the king sized bamboo bed donned a nice, fluffy white bedspread. The master bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway bath, and the office were all done in a chic black and white design, very modern and trendy as Tristan explained, with more splashes of color. There was enough furniture to get him started, but still room for him to go out and get things he wanted for himself. 

 

Overall, Steve was pleased with the way his new home looked, even if it took an extremely awkward luncheon to complete it. Although, as selfish as it may sound, Steve doesn’t regret anything that happened. Not if it lead to the realization that he no longer had to be, as he discovered, in the closet. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

“Alright, Grandpa,” Nat announced as she walked into the common room where Steve was reading a book. “We’ve got training to do,” she ordered, moving to kick Steve’s feet off the coffee table as she made her way to the television stand. 

 

Steve jumped to his feet. “Training? Thought this was our day off from team training?”

 

Nat smirked, “I’m training you for a tournament of sorts.” She knelt down, fiddling with cords and buttons. 

 

“Tournament?” Natasha nodded and glanced over her shoulder at Steve, two rectangular controllers in her hand. “What are those?”

 

“These are wii controllers,” she handed him one, “and you and I are going to play MarioKart.”

 

Steve simply stared at her, skeptical and confused. Natasha laughed, sweet and genuine, and patted his shoulder. “It’s a really simple game. You just drive around the track and try to win the race.” She pushed him back onto the couch and plopped down beside him with all of her trained grace. 

 

“Sounds simple enough,” Steve mumbled, turning the remote over in his hands. Natasha flipped the TV onto the game, the theme song soon playing through the speakers. “Should I watch you play once first?” 

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

 

Steve sighed, letting his fate settle in. 

 

They played for twenty minutes without the computers, Steve’s focus split between the screen and Natasha’s hands. He was awful. Most of the time, he was running off the road or getting turned around. It was uncomfortable, the controller in his hand slipping and falling. His movements were too jerky, his character going all over the road. 

 

Natasha didn’t help. She refused to offer advice, except for a few tidbits about the boxes and what the different power-ups did. 

 

“Why are we doing this again?” Steve sighed, dropping the remote into his lap.

 

“Because Clint called for a tournament tonight and you have to play.” Natasha fiddled with the controls, adding the computers on. “Tony didn’t think we should tell you, just so we can have an easy advantage and a good laugh.”

 

“He thinks just because I’m from another century that I don’t know how to play a video game?” Steve crossed his arms, his brow furrowed as his jaw clenched. 

 

Natasha smirked. “Pretty much.” 

 

Steve snatched the controller out of his lap. “Let’s do this.” 

 

A few hours later, the Avengers (minus Thor), Pepper, Rhodes, and Maria settled into the living room with snacks and beers in their hands. “How exactly do you plan on doing this?” Pepper asked as she sat herself down on the arm of Tony’s chair. 

 

“Here’s how it’ll work,” Clint started. “Four of us play at a time. Then the next four. The bottom four out of both rounds are eliminated, then the top four play until there’s only one left.” 

 

“And what exactly are we playing?” Steve questioned.

 

Tony leaned forward with a smirk, “Well you see, Gramps, we’re playing this magical TV game where you race these things called cars. You do know what a car is right?” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned back, his arm draped across the back of the couch. “How exactly does the video game work?” 

 

“You take the controller and press a couple buttons. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be out the first round, anyways.” Tony tossed him a controller, laughing quietly to himself.

 

Pepper shook her head, exasperated. “Steve, you don’t have to play if you don’t want to.” 

 

Steve waved her off. “If you all want me to play, I guess it won’t hurt to give it a shot.” He handled the remote, making sure it seemed awkward and unnatural in his hands and facial expressions. 

 

He may be a terrible liar, but no one said Steve Rogers couldn’t act. 

 

Tony, Pepper, Maria and Steve were first. Bruce sat behind Steve, talking him through the character and vehicle selection. “Motorcycle, really Steve? Are you sure you want to pick a bike? They aren’t the easiest to control on here?” Bruce mumbled. 

 

Steve shrugged nonchalantly, “I’m going to lose anyways, right? Might as well do it in style.”  

 

“That’s the spirit!” Clint laughed. 

 

And then the games began. 

 

At first, Steve let his avatar go off the road a couple of times and stayed in last place. “Aww Cap, guess we can’t be good at everything, can we?” 

 

Steve leaned back and yawned, just as he sped into first place. “I guess we can’t.” 

 

“What kind of witchcraft is this?” Tony screeched as Steve pushed him off the road, crossing the finish line on the last lap of their first race. 

 

“I don’t know,” Steve gasped in mock bewilderment. “Guess I’m better than you expected?” 

 

Steve and Tony ended up going against Natasha and Clint in the final round. And then it was Clint, Nat, and Steve. And then it was just Nat and Steve. 

 

“You’re going down, Stars and Stripes,” Natasha quipped.

 

“Whatever you say, Widow,” Steve retorted.

  
She beat him. It was a slaughterhouse really, but Steve didn’t care. He proved Tony wrong and that’s all either of them had wanted to do. 


	4. 2012 - Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience!! I'm finally getting back into the groove of this story and I'm hoping to have this part finished by September! Let's see how far I get, but you should start expecting more updates! This chapter didn't turn out the way I was hoping and it's really short compared to previous chapters, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

#  _ Chapter Three _

  
  


**2012**

 

Things settled down a lot come the fall. Most of the Avengers were off doing their own thing, leaving Steve to his own measly routine. He’d wake up for a long morning run around Manhattan, then he’d come back to start practicing his boxing (his favorite of the whole routine), he’d grab something to eat in the common room and head back to the training rooms to practice with his shield and any Avenger who was still in the Tower at the moment. He’d eventually come back up to his floor, turn on his record player to drown out the silence, and tuck himself into a heap of blankets as he watched the news for the rest of the night. 

 

That is until Thor comes around. 

 

Steve connected with Thor better than any of the other Avengers. Sure, he had Natasha, but they were forced to cooperate. Thor, on the other hand, was just as an outcast as Steve himself was. Thor, while his visits are short and far apart, is still adapting to the society just like Steve is and that’s something few could understand. 

 

Which is why Steve was rushing to greet the Asgardian as soon as Jarvis announced the god’s arrival. 

 

“Thor!” Steve called as he burst through the doors on the roof. 

 

“Captain!” Thor boomed, arms spread wide. “Tis good to see you again, my friend.” He drew Steve into a big hug, lifting him off the ground a few feet before planting him back onto the roof. The Asgardian’s laugh rumbled through his chest, making Steve’s grin widen. 

 

Once Steve’s feet were back on the ground, the two men ventured into the Tower and down to Tony’s penthouse suite, where the rest of the Avengers were waiting. “I bear gifts,” Thor announced after a round of welcomes. With everyone settled into their respective seats, Thor digs into his bag and brings out an old, worn book. “I hope you’ll find good use of this. It may help you find a solution or at least something to aid you in your search,” he told Bruce kindly as he handed the book to the doctor. “I took the liberty of translating it for you, but please do not hesitate to come to me if there is an issue.” 

 

Bruce’s eyes were wide as his fingers traced the edges of the Asgardian book. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice sincere and genuine. 

 

Thor grinned and turned to Natasha. He reached into his bag and pulled out an intricately designed dagger. “While I know the blade is not your weapon of choice, I have good faith that you will find use of this,” he said as he presented the Asgardian blade to the Widow. 

 

Natasha stood and wrapped her slender arms around his neck. “Thank you, Thor. It’s beautiful.” She kissed his cheek gently and accepted the dagger, running a gentle finger over the delicate design. Steve watched her with interest, noting how her eyes twinkled at the small Widow’s symbol hidden on the handle. 

 

Thor turned to Clint and pulled a quiver full of arrows out of his bag. “It is to my knowledge that an archer can never have enough arrows,” Thor quipped. Clint laughed as he accepted the quill, slinging it over his shoulder and thanking Thor in the process. The Asgardian turned to Tony and procured a large bottle. “While you may prefer your measly Midgardian beverages, I think you will find that a sip of  _ this _ will do just fine,” Thor mentioned as he handed the bottle over. 

 

“I know what we’re doing tonight,” Tony smirked. 

 

Steve sat up as Thor addressed him and pulled out a large, Asgardian shield. “If we ever have the privilege of fighting together on Asgard, I would like for you to be prepared.” Steve took the shield, designed to look like his but with the Asgardian aesthetic. 

 

“Hopefully the only fighting we’ll do is practice,” Steve said as he shook Thor’s huge hand. “I appreciate this, thank you, Thor.” 

 

“Tis my pleasure. Now,” he clapped his hands and turned to the room, “shall we delve into the mead?” 

 

Tony started to pour everyone, except for Bruce, a small drink, and Thor a pint. “Why am I the only one who has to share their special gift?” 

 

Bruce raised his hand, “I plan on sharing mine, thank you very much.” 

 

Tony waved him off. “Yeah, whatever. You use your gift for the greater good while I have to share my gift with a bunch of moochers. Isn’t it a gift in itself that I don’t make you pay rent? I should remind you how great the location is and how much rent cost on average. Let that sink in,” he grumbled.  

 

“So Thor,” Natasha started, “what exactly are we about to drink?”

 

“Asgardian mead,” he answered. “I believe it’s the equivalent to five of your beers.” He turned to Steve, “I was hoping you may be able to feel the effects.” 

 

Steve held up his glass and sipped it cautiously, “We’ll see.” 

 

An hour later, the rest of the group are exchanging embarrassing stories about their pasts (or each other’s past) when Steve finally finishes his first glass. “I’m standing there with a poodle dressed as a clown in my arms in front of this big CEO, right? He’s confused, the dog is freaking out, and Pepper is screaming at me down the phone, and I’m just standing there trying to have a normal, business conversation with the man,” Tony laughs, leaning forward. “And then, the dog jumps out of my arm and onto the CEO. As he’s freaking out, I’m trying to wrangle the dog and the damned thing takes a piss right on his shirt!” The room erupted in drunken laughter, hands groping shoulders and hitting sofa cushions. Steve chuckled along with them, shaking his head as he stood to get another drink. Except, he must have underestimated himself. 

 

In all his years as Captain America (which, given his circumstances isn’t a lot), Steve has only ever fallen when he’s tripped over some root in the middle of a forest when he was sprinting through. In fact, he takes pride on how coordinated and graceful his movements have become since the serum. 

 

And yet, Steve finds himself tripping over his feet on the way to the bar that’s only fifteen feet away from his seat. Fifteen feet. Fifteen. 

 

The laughter behind him increases, but Steve isn’t paying his friends any attention. Instead, he’s focused on the familiar warm, bubbly feeling the Asgardian mead had sent through his body. 

 

_ Holy shit.  _

 

“I’m drunk,” he announced, turning to his friends with wide eyes. He shook his head again, “No, I’m tipsy. Almost drunk,” he corrected.

 

“Congrats?” Clint laughed. “Do you want a cookie for this amazing achievement you've earned, Cap?” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle, refilling his glass. He carefully made his way back to his seat, ignoring the laughter from his friends.

 

“I’m bored. We should play a game,” Tony announced with a smirk. 

 

“We’re not middle schoolers at our first boy-girl party, Stark,” Clint started as he tipped his beer bottle back. “That being said, I’m down.” 

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “What game?”

 

Tony looked at Steve, eyes practically twinkling with mischief. “Never Have I Ever.” 

 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, maintaining eye contact with Tony. 

 

“It’s a drinking game. Someone says something they’ve never done and if you did it, you drink,” Bruce explained. 

 

Steve nodded with Bruce’s words. “Okay.” 

 

“Okay? You’ll play?” Tony asked, his excitement clear. 

 

Steve looked to Thor and the others and shrugged, “If everyone else wants to, sure.” 

 

“Yes!” Tony cheered. “I’ll go first. Never have I ever… killed a Nazi.” Tony grinned. “This is where you drink, Capsicle.” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes but brought his glass up to his lips anyway. So, it seems, did Natasha. “What?” she questioned. “You’d be surprised how many lingered,” she said with a shrug. 

 

“I’ll go next,” Clint said. He thought for a moment before he spoke, “Never have I ever thrown the first pitch at a baseball game.”

 

“What kind of question is that?” Tony asked, making a face at the archer. Steve looked around before slowly bringing his glass back up to his lips. Tony and Clint both gasped at the captain, their shock slowly turning into excitement. “Seriously?” Tony spluttered.

 

“Summer of ‘44. Dodgers versus the Yankees,” Steve answered promptly. 

 

“‘Course he’s a Yankees fan,” Clint chuckled. 

 

Steve’s face twisted with disgust. “I don’t hate myself, Barton. I do have some respect for myself and my reputation.”

 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’d never be caught dead for cheering for that so called team. Barely even know how to pitch,” he grumbled the last part. 

 

Tony barked out a laugh. “I like Drunk Steve. Can we keep him?” 

 

“Next question,” Thor started, “never have I ever… shot a gun.” 

 

Steve, Natasha, Tony, and Clint drank, leaving Thor and Bruce. “My turn,” Bruce said. “Never have I ever sold my own signature online.” Tony swallowed another sip, grumbling something about losing a stupid bet. 

 

“Never have I ever marathoned  _ Star Wars _ ,” Natasha stated. Tony, Clint, and Bruce each took an unapologetic sip before turning to Steve. 

 

“Um,” he mumbled, “never have I ever… driven a car.” Everyone but Thor and Steve sipped at their glass. 

 

“I call bullshit, Rogers,” Tony said as he pointed a finger at the captain. “You really haven’t driven a car?”

 

Steve shook his head. “I’ve driven motorcycles, but cars weren’t as popular when I was growing up. That and it was the end of the Great Depression, we could barely afford clothes. How the hell were we supposed to buy a car?” 

 

Tony considered this for a moment before he gave up. “My turn. Never have I ever… had gay sex.” Steve’s brows furrowed as Natasha and Clint casually sipped from their glasses. “I’m not even surprised,” Tony said with a laugh.

 

“Steve,” Bruce called, “are you okay?” 

 

Steve blushed. “I’m, um, not sure what that is,” he admitted.

 

“You don’t know what sex is?” Tony gasped. “Jeez, Cap. I knew you were old but you and the dinosaurs must have figured out a way to reproduce…” 

 

“I know what sex is!” Steve assured them quickly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just not sure why it’s gay? I’m assuming ‘gay’ isn’t what I think it is…”

 

“It’s not,” Bruce said gently. “Nowadays the word ‘gay’ is used to describe homosexuals.” Steve’s eyes widened, his skin paling. “You know what a-”

 

“I know what a faggot is! Why would you admit to something like that?” Steve gasped, appalled. While he had an understanding that things had changed, Steve also knew that people were just as cruel and awful as they had been in the forties. And while he was comfortable with being queer, he wasn’t about to tell anyone about his secret. Even if it was safe here in the tower, it wasn’t something to flaunt. Not when anyone could be listening or overhear and send him to prison, or worse… 

 

The room grew quiet, and awkward tension bubbling. “Wow,” Clint mumbled, “who knew Rogers would be a homophobe?”

“I mean, Dad always said you were this progressive, understanding guy. Guess that’s not the case anymore,” Tony said. 

 

Natasha stood up, eyeing Steve warily. “I think we’re done for the night. Come on Steve, you and I are walking down to our floors,” she commanded in a no nonsense tone. Steve stood, mumbled an awkward goodnight, and followed her to the elevator. 

 

She waited until the doors shut before she turned to him. “Let’s be clear,” she started, “you are to never use that word again. If you don’t agree with it, fine. That doesn’t mean you can shame anyone and criticize them for something they can’t help. Is that clear?” Steve made an attempt to talk, but she stopped him with a raise of an eyebrow. “Is that clear?” she repeated.

 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

She nodded and turned towards the doors as they opened to reveal his floor. “Goodnight Cap.”

 

“Night,” he mumbled as he shuffled into his floor, properly scolded. 

 

Steve went about his nighttime routine and slid under the covers of his massive bed. It was just wasn’t making sense. How could they be mad at him for going with the safest route? Even if they accepted it, Steve’s brain is wired to hide and protect his secret with Bucky.-

 

_ Bucky… _ Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes as he scrambled to grasp the dog tags wrapped around his neck, nestled against his own. God, he missed him. He would know how to smooth over the situation, how to keep his friends from hating him for his cultural ignorance. 

 

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispered into the dark. “Things are changing too much and I can’t tell if it's good or bad. I don’t know how to act or speak without causing a riot. I need you, Buck.” 

 

He fell asleep holding the dog tag to his chest with tear stains on his cheek and a wet pillow. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

Daisy hands Steve a filled with black coffee as she shuffles to her seat on the other side of the kitchen table. “Thank you, Daise. How’s everyone been?” Steve asked, sipping at the burning liquid carefully.

 

“Everyone’s been real good,” she started her smile growing in enthusiasm. “I suppose I haven’t told you about my granddaughter’s news, have I?”

 

Steve leaned forward, his interest piqued. “You have not. Do tell,” he encouraged.

 

Daisy giggled behind her mug. “She’s making me a great-grandmother. Having a little girl. They’re naming her Haylee.” 

 

“That’s great news! I’m happy for you,” Steve laughed. “When is she due?” 

 

Her brows furrowed as she frowned in concentration. “March ninth, I believe,” she said quietly, “but I can’t be too sure.”

 

“The ninth?” Steve gave her a sad smile, “That’s a day before Buck’s birthday. It’ll be nice to have a reason to celebrate again.”

 

Daisy nodded solemnly, “I still celebrate. I celebrated you both, in fact.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Every birthday and anniversary of your deaths, I’d travel down to the cemetery and place a few flowers by your headstones. I always went a day early for you, though. I wanted to make sure I was the first person to put flowers down for you.” Her voice was soft and nostalgic, yet warm and light. Steve found himself wanting to hear more. 

 

“Were you?”

 

“Some years I was, some I wasn’t.” She sipped at her coffee. “The only day I knew I’d be successful was June twenty-fourth.”

 

Steve froze jaw slack and his mug halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered the mug and looked to his sister-in-law (she was too close to be just a friend in Steve’s eyes). He whispered a meek, “The twenty-fourth?” 

 

Daisy gasped. “Oh Steve, please tell me you remember,” she nearly cried.

 

He shook his head. “No, I remember. I just… Didn’t think anyone else knew about our anniversary.” 

 

A sad smile graced her aged face, but Steve still saw her as the precious little girl who accepted him as her brother’s boyfriend all those years ago. “I found it in some of your letters with Bucky. I would have acknowledged your wedding anniversary, too, but I don’t know when you got married. Your friends Timothy and Gabe know, but they would never spill.”

 

“You met with Dugan and Gabe?”

 

Daisy nodded. “We meet up once a year, on a date in between your death anniversaries and commemorate your memory. All of us did; the Howlies, Peggy, Howard, and I would meet up and share a moment of silence and a pint in memory of you and Bucky.” Steve didn’t know what to say, but Daisy didn’t seem to mind as she continued to speak. “Over the years, the group’s been thinning out. Dernier was first, then Stark, then Morita, then Falsworth. Peggy still met with us for a while, even after she moved into the care facility until she wasn’t able to anymore. Now it’s just Timothy, Gabe, and I.”

 

“How are they?” Steve asked in earnest, “I haven’t been able to get in contact with them.” 

 

Daisy gave him a small, tight smile and reached for his hand. “Timothy is… on his last leg. I still hear from him and his daughter every now and then, but he doesn’t have much longer, Steve. He’s a hundred years old and, unlike you, doesn’t have super-soldier juice pumping through his veins.”

 

“He’s stubborn. He’s not about to let death kick his ass,” Steve mumbled. 

 

“I thought the same about you and look what happened.” 

  
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

 

“Touche.” 

 

“There anyway I can get Dugan’s number from you?”

 

“Like you had to ask.” 

 

Steve went home that day with excitement and hope filling his head. He called Dugan the next morning and spoke with his daughter about traveling to see him on the west coast the next week. Dugan seemed thrilled by the idea of seeing his former captain and made the man promise he’d have a pint with him as soon as they reunited. Unfortunately, Steve was called into work the day before he was supposed to visit Dugan. The mission was only three days, but it was too late. 

 

Dugan had passed away. 

 

Steve still ventured out to the west coast with Daisy on his arm, the two set to attend Dugan’s funeral. It was a beautiful ceremony, with speeches from Dum Dum’s children, grandchildren, and a few of his former S.H.I.E.L.D co-workers. Steve did, however, get to see Gabe.

 

“It’s a shame this is what brings you back, Cap,” Gabe said, his voice aged but no doubt his own. 

 

“I know,” Steve replied, “I should have made an effort to see him.”

 

Gabe patted his shoulder and shook his head. “Don’t beat yourself up. Life happens, Steve,  _ et nous vivons _ .”

 

“Were you always this wise?” 

 

“Yeah, you idiots just wouldn’t listen.” 

 

“Good point.” 

 

Steve and Gabe were two of the six chosen to carry Dugan out of the church, with Steve easily taking most of the weight (he was discreet, however, so that Gabe wouldn’t suspect. He knew all too well how it felt to think someone was treating you differently because of your age or size, he wouldn’t dream of making Gabe feel worthless in such an important act). 

 

As beautiful as the ceremony and experience was, Steve couldn’t help but think that this was only the beginning of goodbyes that he’d be forced to say. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

The first night, Steve was already on edge. The news anchor went on and on, recounting the first four bombings before detailing the newest Mandarin bombing. Steve looked down at his phone, where a message to Natasha was open and ready. “ _ Are you sure this thing is being handled? _ ” he texted. 

 

“ _ Relax. It’s being handled _ ,” she replied.  

 

“If you say so,” he mumbled as he typed. 

 

The next night, Steve watched in horror as the news went over the next Mandarin bombing and the events that happened at the TCL Chinese Theater. And when the newscast mentioned Happy Hogan as one of the victims, Steve was frozen in place. 

 

While he wasn’t close with Happy (was he really close with anyone these days?), he still cared about the man. Happy didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of whatever this was, nobody did.

 

Steve had tried to call Tony and Happy both, but neither answered. The captain was starting to get anxious, just sitting at home and watching all of this go on, but not have any control over the situation. He couldn’t help, couldn’t figure out what was wrong, couldn’t save the day… 

 

It only got worse as the days went on. 

 

Stark’s mansion being destroyed, his disappearing, more Mandarin bombings, the kidnapping of the president… It was all building up. Steve wanted, no  _ needed _ to help his friend. He couldn’t just sit here while Tony was being shot at and torn apart, especially not when he was supposed to be enjoying the holidays with Pepper. 

 

Steve sent Tony at least one text a day, that read something along the lines of, “ _ Tony, when you get this, call me ASAP! Let me know if I can help. _ ”

 

He never got a reply.

 

Steve woke up Christmas morning, alone and with the news rambling on in his living room. With Bucky’s dog tags wrapped around his hand, Steve watched the reporter review the events of the past week with a captivated interest. He tried to get in touch with Tony, Pepper, and the other Avengers, but no luck. 

 

He did his best to distract himself with sketching his view from his windows of Manhattan or reading one of his historical novels, but nothing worked. 

 

It didn’t help when the coverage of what the news reporters dubbed “The Battle on the Norco” started to play. 

 

_You should be out there, Rogers. Tony needs you and you’re sitting on your ass watching it happen on TV._ _Nice going. You deserve a round of applause._

 

_ It’s Christmas and you don’t even have plans, yet you aren’t out there? Who does that? Oh, right. You.  _

 

_ Next week, Nat’s going to need help and you’ll be sitting your fat ass on this couch shoving donuts in your face. Watch.  _

 

_ You’re beyond selfish, Steve. Bucky would be ashamed of you.  _

 

_ You don’t deserve to be alive. Don’t deserve the shield or being called Captain America. You don’t even deserve friends, much less happiness.  _

 

_ You deserve to die like you should have when you crashed the Valkyrie.  _

 

Steve sent himself into an anxiety attack, one hand in his hair and the other wrapped around Bucky’s dog tags. He could barely breathe, yet all he could do was cry. His chest ached, his body shook, and nothing was helping. 

 

_ You’re pathetic, Steve. Just pathetic.  _

 

A part of him didn’t want it to stop. A part of him felt like he deserved to be stuck in an endless anxiety attack. A part of him just wanted it all to stop. 

 

A part of him just wanted someone to be around. Someone to help him through this, through all of this. 

 

And that person was gone… 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

“Steve, buddy, I’m good. You can relax now,” Tony laughed. Steve held the phone to his ear, his shoulders hunched as he made his way across the street. He held the large tote to his chest with the other hand, careful not to hold it too tight. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve mumbled, “I was just worried.”   
  


“Worried your star player wouldn’t be there for the big homecoming game, Coach?”

Steve gave a dry laugh. “You’re funny. Seriously Tony, let me know if there is anything I can do.” 

Tony groaned. “Yeah, sure, fine.”

“And call me when you get out of surgery.” 

“Will do, father.”

“I mean it, Stark. Don’t make me come down there.” Steve smiled, almost at Daisy’s house.

“I will, God. Pepper’s here, she’ll keep you updated. Kay? Gotta blast.” Tony hung up without a goodbye. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved his phone into his pocket. It’s been two days since the Battle on the Norco and Steve was on his way to visit Daisy for a late Christmas celebration now that he was sure Tony was safe. 

He let himself into Daisy’s home, the comforting smell of freshly baked cookies and brewing coffee enveloping him as he stepped over the threshold. “Steve?” she called.

“Sorry, I’m late. Tony finally called while I was on my way over,” he said as he took off his coat and scarf, the tote resting by the door. 

 

“That’s fine,” she soothed as she made her way into the living room. “Come sit. We have to make the most of our time together, Stevie.”

 

Steve gave her a small smile as he made his way over to her, his shoulders hunched and his movements small. “I’m sorry I can’t stay long. I was looking forward to being able to meet all of your family,” he told her.

 

Daisy patted his arm and smiled. “It’s okay. I get it. I understand that I can’t keep Captain America to myself.” Her expression sobered up a little. “How is Tony? I saw what happened on the news and… Steve, if that’s how closely they’ll be covering your work, I don’t know if my heart can handle it. I nearly had a heart attack watching the coverage on Tony.” 

 

“Trust me, you’re not the only one,” he muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat and gently took her hand, not meeting her eyes. “Tony’s okay, he’s going into surgery here soon to get the shrapnel out of his chest and all will be well. He’s still planning on holding a New Year’s party so things aren’t too bad. I,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t know what to tell you about the news coverage. There’s nothing I can do to help it. I’m sorry.”

 

Daisy squeezed his hand. “I don’t know how Bucky put up with you. He must have been a nervous wreck constantly back in the day.”

 

Steve let out a harsh, genuine laugh. “You can say that again. He’d nag me for hours on end about how I can’t jump into every situation and stop every fight. Then he’d turn around and tell me how proud he was that I saved the stray cat or stopped those boys from harassing a girl late at night. He could switch between the two in a heartbeat, blending his scoldings with praise like it was nobody’s business.” Daisy watched him with a fond smile, content with watching Steve recount his days with Bucky. Steve’s face was bright as he spoke, his voice soft and warm. There was no trace of Captain America and the responsibilities the title held, just Steve talking about his Bucky. 

 

“Oh!” Steve stood from his seat and crossed the room, delicately picking up the tote he had brought with him. “I almost forgot. Merry Christmas, Daisy,” he cheered as he handed the tote off to his sister-in-law. 

 

Daisy scoffed, her expression twisted in a mock-annoyance. “I thought you said no gifts?” 

 

“Yeah, no gifts from you. I’m the captain, I made an exception.” He shrugged and sat back down, shoulders hunched forward and his body giving off a meek, shy tone.

 

Carefully, Daisy pulled out the large present from the tote and gently peeled back the paper to reveal a canvas. “Oh Stevie,” she cried, “it’s beautiful!” In a beautiful charcoal piece, Steve had captured a young Bucky, his siblings, and Steve squished in a pillowfort no doubt in the middle of their living room. You could practically hear the giggles coming from the children at the radio story, feel the blankets that covered the floor, and the squirming of limbs as the night wore on… It was perfect. “Stevie, I don’t know what to say,” she cried, a hand covering her mouth.

 

Steve blushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I thought you might like it. I, um, used a drawing I had found in one of the boxes you gave me. It’s from Buck’s journal, the one I gave him. I hope that’s okay?”   
  


She nodded, wiping at her tears with a tissue that she had plucked off the coffee table. “That just makes it all the better. Ugh,” a hand was placed on her chest, “I love it. I really do.” 

 

“I’m glad,” Steve whispered.

 

“I’m so happy to see you use your charcoals again. I’d do anything to go back to this moment,” she whispered delicately. 

 

“Me too.” 


	5. 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't turn out the way that I had imagined it, so I may rewrite it later, but I'm working through a block. Hopefully, the next chapter will be better and I can write to my own expectations. This is also unedited because I have two essays to write that are due next week. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> ~ J xxxx

#  _ Chapter Four _

  
  


**2013**

 

There were people everywhere. The house was packed and spilling out onto the yard in every direction. It was New Year’s Eve and Tony Stark - despite everything that had happened to him - was throwing a party at the house he was renting just outside of Los Angeles. The party was an exclusive event and highly sought after, so Steve wasn’t too surprised that he didn’t recognize many of the people. After all, most of the guests were friends of Tony or other celebrities of various mediums. (Steve still struggled with being a “celebrity” if he was being honest. Sure, he had been well-known in the forties, but he never considered himself famous. Then again, for the most of his fame he had been off in the middle of Europe…) 

 

Steve was overwhelmed. 

 

People kept coming up to him and asking for pictures, thanking him for his service, and just genuinely gawking over the fact that he was there. It didn’t help that Tony kept calling him out for not being social enough and with a lot of grandpa jokes at that. It’s not Steve’s fault he’s chronologically old enough to be a grandfather to any of the guests, he blames the serum and the ice. (The jokes only make it more painstakingly obvious that there’s a gap between him and his peers now, more so than when he was younger. That’s what hurts the most.) 

 

Either way, Steve was glad to have found Bruce and set up camp near one of the fires, facing the pool as they watched the partygoers. “Were you ever into all of,” Steve motioned to the party, “this?” 

 

Bruce chuckled, fiddling with his water bottle. “Not exactly. I’ve always been very focused on my work and not much of a social child.” Dr. Banner adjusted his glasses and glanced at the captain, posing the same question.

 

Steve shook his head. “A friend of mine would get invited and I’d tag along sometimes, but that was mostly it. With my asthma and everything else, it wasn’t smart for me to be out partying all night. Not with the smoke and drugs and the liquor.”

 

“Must be rough to watch everyone get sloppy drunk and obnoxious knowing you can’t join them.” 

 

“Not much different than you, to be honest. If I wanted to, I could always drink Thor’s stuff,” Steve said. “I simply don’t like to drink.” 

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

Steve blushed, his shoulders hunched and his body leaned forward as if to appear smaller. “I don’t trust myself when I’m not completely in control of my body. I know how my body works and what it’s strengths and limitations are when I’m in the right mind. When I’m not, I,” Steve paused to sip at his drink, “I worry that I’ll hurt someone.” 

 

Bruce patted at Steve’s shoulder, a knowing look on his face. He was about to say something when Tony announced from the balcony that it was almost midnight and called everyone outside. The doctor and captain reluctantly gathered near the pool with the rest of the occupants, everyone watching the projector screen that had the countdown ticking towards midnight. 

 

“Only a minute left, then we can leave,” Bruce mumbled low enough for the words to be intelligible (he knew Steve would be able to hear him in all of this mess, thanks to the serum). Steve smirked, arms crossed and his glass dangling from his fingers. 

 

Tony and Clint popped up beside him, Tony in between him and Bruce. They were both shouting along with the timer, laughing and swaying with the tick of the clock. Steve laughed along with them, finding their antics amusing.

 

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

 

Tony and Clint both put their hands on Steve’s shoulders.

 

“Six, five, four…”

 

Somehow they shuffled forward, the crowds getting closer to the screen in anticipation.

 

“Three, two, one!” 

 

As cheers of “Happy New Year!” and applause sounded, the comforting grip of his fellow Avengers’ hands loosened. 

 

And then Steve was being pushed into the pool. 

 

He flailed a little, unexpected at the sudden loss of stable ground beneath his feet. He plunged into the pool, engulfed by the lukewarm water. 

 

_ He was back in the Valkyrie, stuck in the pilot’s seat and desperately trying to get out. The ice cold water was over his head now, burning his eyes and threatening to fill his lungs with salt water.  _

 

_ He thrashed about, the water seeping into his nose slowly. If he could just rip himself out of the seat, then he may be able to get out before the water became too much.  _

_ Steve could feel the dog tags in his boots pressing into his foot, a comforting pressure in a hostile environment.  _

 

_ ‘ _ Bucky would want me to get out. He’d want me to get out and go save the world a couple of times. He’d want me to live my life and be happy. _ ’ Steve thrashed about, kicking his legs desperately to pull himself out. _

 

After a long three minutes, Steve resurfaced, gasping for air and coughing up water. He stood up, his ears ringing and his eyes stinging. People were still laughing, celebrating, enjoying life, and here was Steve, shaking as the icy tendrils of his past covered his body like astray vines. Steve was in one of the lowest moments he could imagine before all of these people, and no one cared. Hell, Tony and Clint were laughing, completely oblivious to Steve’s inner struggle. 

 

The captain walked towards the edge of the pool, his large hands gripping the sides with the force of all of his super soldier strength. The concrete crumbled under his fingers, breaking off into pebbles and slabs. He pulled himself up, taking the slabs with him. 

 

Bruce helped to pull him up, asking him something that Steve didn’t pay attention to. All he could hear was the roar of the crowd and his heartbeat as he came down from the panic and embarrassment. He was dripping wet and shivering, despite the warm water. 

 

He looked down to his hands, holding the broken concrete from the side of the pool still with dust and blood sticking to his skin. Bruce placed two careful hands on his shoulders, mumbling in his ear as he started to direct him towards the house. 

 

The doctor took him back to the hotel they were staying at and made sure Steve was warm and his hands were cleaned. 

 

Neither of them talked. Nothing was said. And if no one mentioned how long it took Steve to get out of the pool that night, then he was okay. 

 

People were oblivious to it all. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

When Steve finally returned home from a week in the Middle East, he was exhausted. He was freezing, covered in dirt and blood (nothing serious, just a few minor cuts that almost completely healed), and mentally over the hours of debriefing he had to sit through. All he wanted to do was shower with scalding hot water, climb into warm, fuzzy sweats, make a pot of hot chocolate and watch a movie before he slept for the next year. 

 

Before he could even think to do anything relaxing, however, Steve knew there were things that needed to be done. For one, the fridge needed to be cleaned of any expired foods (if Jarvis hasn’t done that already) and he needed to make something to eat, something that wasn’t prepackaged and cold. 

 

He went about the kitchen, cleaning and double-checking cabinets while trying to ignore the cold fabric that seemed to cling to his skin. It wasn’t even cold in his apartment, but even after months of being thawed out, Steve still felt the ice creeping up spine whenever he was too idle. It was always worse when he had to fly…

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spotted the Avengers calendar Tony had given everyone for Christmas (along with action figures, seven t-shirts - one representing each Avenger and one for the team, and other miscellaneous merchandise they had started to sell). Steve had prided himself on being able to track the days, especially when a particularly difficult day came about and it was hard for him to get up out of bed. He had one in his bedroom, too, to motivate him to at least get out of bed and mark out the days. And on days that had started out great, but turned to shit? It gave him hope to be able to cross the day off and forget about it all. 

 

He carefully put the glass he was holding onto the counter and plucked a pen out of a drawer. Uncapping it, he lifted it up and began to cross out the four days he’d been away. 

And that’s when he noticed the date. 

 

Steve looked at his calendar completely frozen except for his hand that had started to shake, the pen quivering in his grip. The guilt was starting to get to him, because when something important and detrimental happens you shouldn’t be allowed to forget easily. And he did. He somehow went about his day without even realizing it. It wasn’t until Steve went to mark the day off his calendar that he realized it. 

 

Tomorrow would be the anniversary of Bucky’s death. 

 

The pen fell from his hand with a soft click, the opened tip lightly marking his sock. He stumbled back a little, the hand that was once holding the pen now covering his mouth. He forgot. Any other day he’d be moping about the Tower or Brooklyn thinking about how he was forced to live without his Bucky. Any other day he’d be absentmindedly sketching Bucky’s beautiful face or reading from his copy of  The Great Gatsby . Any other day he’d have to physically remind himself not to think about Bucky… 

 

And yet, he forgets? 

 

The sob that ripped out of him was uncontrollable. How could he do this to Bucky? How could he go about his day like it was just a normal day when tomorrow would be… Steve’s body shook as his sobs grew harsher. Tomorrow would mark the first anniversary that Steve was conscious to witness. 

 

Steve stumbled away from the wall calendar and plopped down onto the couch, still in uniform with his shield on his back and covered in filth from the mission. He sobbed and screamed into one of the throw pillows Tony insisted he needed. Without even thinking, his body curled into a small, helpless ball as his body was torn from within by guilt, grief, anger, depression, and disappointment. 

 

He didn’t move until noon the next day. He didn’t sleep either. Instead, he spent hours crying and staring into space. One minute he’d be sobbing into his hands and the next he’d be numb to everything, barely aware of his existence. 

 

“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis called, “your presence has been requested in the communal lounge.”

 

Steve blinked hard a few times, looking up at the ceiling a little. “What time is it?” he asked, voice harsh and weak. 

 

“It’s half past noon, sir.” 

 

The captain stretched, a series of cracks and pops following his movements. He stood from the couch, his uniform tight and uncomfortable and the shield dug in his back. “Jarvis, I, uh,” he started, clearing his throat as he took the shield off the magnetic hooks that were attached to his back.

 

“Need a moment?” the AI supplied.

 

Steve nodded, blushing. “Yeah, sorry.”   
  


“No worries, Captain. I’ll send the message.” 

 

Slowly, Steve made his way into the bathroom and climbed into a scalding hot shower, uniform and all. He peeled it off piece by piece, his aching, numb body melting with the water. His movements were slow and uncoordinated as he went through the motions of scrubbing the sweat and grime off his skin. Despite the steam rolling off his body, the water just wasn’t warm enough… 

 

After what felt like hours, Steve was finally somewhat acceptable to be seen in public. Thankfully, the bags under his eyes were barely noticeable and while they only seemed to get worse with each waking moment, Steve didn’t really care. His eyes were slightly red thanks to his fragile emotions, but he was prepared to play it off as a post yawn reaction.

 

He made his way down to the communal lounge, leaning heavily against the steel wall. He was out of it, between his emotions and the mission he’d just completed… Steve was ready to break. 

 

The elevator opened and Steve put on his Captain America face, hiding behind the facade easily. It was sad how it had become second-nature for him nowadays. Bucky would have never fallen for it as easily as the Avengers had…

 

“Who called?” He asked, not wasting a second with pleasantries. 

 

“We did,” Tony chirped. “Have a seat, Grandpa!” Steve walked over to face all five of the Avengers, each in a different state of dress. Thor was in a traditionally casual outfit from Asgard, Natasha in workout clothes, Clint in pajamas, Tony in a casual band shirt and a blazer, and Bruce dressed in his usual button-down and slacks.  _ Good news: It’s not a mission.  _ He stood before them, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Or don’t, that’s totally fine,” Tony mumbled. 

 

“Why am I here?” Steve sighed.

 

“Because we wanted to see your lovely face! Is that too much to ask?” Tony quipped. Steve leveled him with a no-nonsense glare. “God, you’re cold today. Did you fall back in the ice over in the desert, Capsicle?” 

 

Steve turned to Bruce and Natasha. “Why am I here?” he asked again.

 

Natasha leaned forward, smirking. “Why so persistent? Do you have plans? Did you finally call Marie like I suggested?” 

 

Steve turned to Bruce with a pleading expression, arms still crossed but his eyes showing how tired he really was. Bruce gave him a sympathetic smile and leaned forward as well. “We have a surprise for you.” 

 

“They called while you were gone,” Clint supplied through a mouthful of chips. “Tony sent for them to come visit you since we didn’t know when you’d be home from the mission.” 

 

As he was about to question what Clint meant by that, the elevator doors opened to reveal Daisy and Gabe arm-in-arm. His arms fell, his face fallen. It took everything in him not to cry. 

 

“Surprise!” Tony offered, waving his hands towards the two. 

 

But the two elders weren’t happy or smiling and it wasn’t the magical, happy reunion that the other Avengers had expected. Instead Steve simply stood his ground, doing his best to keep his face free of any emotions. 

 

An awkward silence bubbled to the surface as the Avengers waited for their captain to say something. When it was clear that the blond wouldn’t be offering up anything, the team decided to take it upon themselves. Thor stood and helped the two to sit on the couches, sparing a concerned glance at the captain. “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” the Asgardian prince greeted. 

 

Bruce shook both of their hands, grinning. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Jones.” 

 

Gabe gave a weak smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” 

 

Natasha offered them a warm smile. “You were a Howlie, right?”

 

“I was. Private Jones, originally from the ninety-second infantry. After Steve rescued us from that Hydra base, I joined the Commandos. Best decision I could have ever made,” he replied.

 

“And how do you know Cap, Ms. Barnes?” Bruce asked. 

 

Daisy looked to Steve, a question on her face. Steve looked away, his guilt slowly seeping into his facade. She kept her composure and cleared her throat. “My big brother used to be good friends with Steve. He was actually in the Commandos, too.” 

 

Tony turned to Steve. “Hey, how come you never talk about the good ol’ days? Isn’t that usually what people do when they hit the geriatric stage of life.” He quickly turned to Gabe and Daisy, “No offense or anything.” 

 

“Hey, he’s older than me,” Gabe mumbled. “He’s older than dirt itself.” 

 

Daisy giggled, almost sounding like she used to. “By a month,” she reminded him. 

 

Steve’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. He stayed where he was and willed himself not to break down in front of his teammates. 

 

“What was Steve like back in the day?” Natasha asked, genuinely curious.

 

Daisy blushed. “He was a really heartthrob and I had the biggest crush on him. Every chance I got, I was over at my brother’s place just so I could hang out with Stevie.” 

 

Steve snapped out of his focus, his face flushed and his eyes wide. “You did?” he squeaked.

 

The team laughed as Daisy shook her head. “No, you big goof!” She paused, her cheeks growing red. “Okay, maybe at first but that was before-” she closed her eyes for a brief moment and plastered on a fake smile, “before I grew up.” The captain gave a weak nod, his body growing tense at her potential slip. 

 

“Which Commando was your brother?” Bruce asked after a lapse in conversation. “You didn’t say.”

 

Daisy and Gabe shared a brief, calculated look before she answered, “Sergeant James Barnes.” 

 

That’s when Steve snapped. 

 

“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” he nearly barked. 

 

Neither Daisy nor Gabe were fazed by Steve’s reaction, but the Avengers sure were. “Take a chill pill, Capsicle,” Tony snapped. 

 

“We do,” Daisy said gently. “We were planning on stopping after we left. We thought you… might want to join us.” 

 

Steve’s face was cold and dark, his nostrils flaring a little and his mouth twitching into a frown. “Join you where?” he asked, his voice harsh and cold compared to her tone.

 

“You know damn well where.” 

 

Gabe cleared his throat. “Figured it was about time we pulled you into this tradition.”

 

“What tradition?” Thor asked. 

 

“I’m good.” Steve turned to the elevator, his movements ridged and unlike him. 

 

Daisy stood. “Stop right there, Rogers.” Steve stopped in his tracks, the tears brimming his eyes despite his desperate attempts to stop them. “Now you have two choices. You either come with us or we stay here and talk in private.” Nothing was said for a moment before Daisy spoke again. “Steven Grant Rogers, don’t you dare think that I don’t have a couple of old tricks up my sleeve. Tricks your ma and Buck would swear by.” 

 

Gabe cleared his throat and rose from his seat, a mischievous, yet sad smile on his face. “I dare you.” 

 

Steve’s shoulders deflated, but he stepped into the elevator nonetheless. However, the doors didn’t close. Instead, Steve held them open. “You coming or do I need to get you both a wheelchair?”

 

“You say that like you didn’t love a good wheelchair back in the day,” Gabe muttered. “If I recall, you, Barnes, Monty, and Dum Dum had plenty of races in wheelchairs.” 

 

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched into a minute smile, yet he remained silent. 

 

“Wait,” Tony said suddenly, “did you seriously get Rogers to comply by middle naming him and giving him a dare? That actually works?” 

 

Daisy smirked. “You’d be surprised what a dare would get him to do.” With that, she and Gabe stepped into the elevator and the doors closed between them. 

 

No one said anything as Jarvis wordlessly took them to Steve’s floor. When the doors opened to reveal Steve’s apartment, Daisy quietly gasped (honestly, the only reason Steve heard it was thanks to the serum). The kitchen was filthy and the the living room was a disaster, with torn pillows and broken glass everywhere. Steve didn’t even remember doing any of it…

 

He walked inside, taking in everything before he turned to a quiet, patient Gabe and Daisy. “I’m sorry,” he tried, “I don’t- I just- I-” Steve swallowed the lump in his throat as Daisy made her way over to him. She stared at him carefully and opened her arms wide. 

 

Everything was still for a moment. 

 

And then it wasn’t. 

 

Steve burst into tears and fell into her arms, his sobs loud and heart wrenching. “Let it out, Stevie,” she cooed as she rubbed his back, “We know baby, we know.” 

 

While Daisy comforted Steve, Gabe started to pick up the living room. He did the best he could with his bad knees and slow pace, but at least the glass was picked up and all of the pillow fluff was thrown away. Eventually he was able to direct Steve and Daisy into the living room to sit on the sofa, where he situated Steve in between the two. 

 

Steve desperately tried to stop his tears, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Steve,” Gabe said softly, “it’s okay to be upset. We understand. It’s hard for all of us, ya know? The difference is we had our time to grieve and while I grieved for my friend and fellow soldier, Daisy grieved for her older brother, and you… Steve, it ain’t easy losing a loved one or a partner.” 

 

“Even harder when that person is your best friend and husband,” Daisy interjected softly. 

 

Gabe nodded as he placed a firm, but comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You take all the time you need, Cap. We aren’t going anywhere, okay?” Steve nodded, sniffling. 

 

They sat in silence for a long time, all of them reflecting on Bucky and the time they spent together in their own way. Steve cried on and off, but as the day went on, his emotions started to stabilize. 

 

Steve plucked out the dog tags from his pocket, rubbing his thumbs over the indentions and the rings they gave one another. Daisy gasped, her eyes watering. “Is that-”

 

“I thought we lost those in the war?” 

 

“No,” Steve said quietly, “I kept them on me at all times. It was selfish, I know. I should have given them to Winifred and George or the military, but I couldn’t part with them. Not after everything.” 

 

Gabe patted his shoulder. “That’s okay. No one knew we found them in the first place.”

 

Steve paused, glancing towards his comrade. “What?” 

 

The man rubbed the back of his neck, a soft smile on his face. “The Commandos and I decided not to declare what we found. We knew you had them and we knew someone would take it from you if they knew you had them, so… We never told.” 

 

“Thank you,” Steve’s voice was as genuine as he could make it. “You have no idea how important that is to me. These,” he held up the tags, “mean the world to me. It’s all I have of him. Reminds me that he’s still here with me no matter what.” 

 

Daisy clasped her hand over the tags, sniffling. “You’re damn right, Steven.” 

 

Steve smiled and kissed her cheek, mumbling a meek thank you. Sitting there with Gabe and Daisy, Steve didn’t feel so alone. He had two of his oldest friends by his side, his lover’s dog tags in his hand, and a team of new friends from a variety of backgrounds and issues waiting for him on another floor. 

 

For the first time since he woke up, Steve felt good. He felt content and a bubbly warmth spread through his chest, almost vanquishing the icy claws the Valkyrie still had on him. They weren’t gone, but Steve felt that maybe they wouldn’t plague him forever.

 

And he has Bucky to thank for that.

 

Once Gabe and Daisy left the tower to visit Bucky’s honorary gravesite, Steve crawled into bed with the tags in his hands and his ring on his finger and faced the window. The view was beautiful, especially at sunset, and Steve could just make out the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. “Bucky,” he whispered into the night, “I miss you. I miss you so much, but I know that deep down you’re looking out for me wherever you are. One of these days, you and I will be reunited. I know for a fact we’ll be reunited. It might take us some time, though. I’ll wait as long as I need to see you again, Buck. I’m with you till the end of the line, baby. Till the end.” 

 

Steve didn’t wake up from any nightmares that night. Partially because of how exhausted he was from his mission and lack of sleep, but Steve would like to believe that Bucky made sure Steve didn’t suffer anymore that day than he had already done. Because if Steve knows one thing about Bucky, it’s that nothing will stop him from caring for Steve.  

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

In a lull of missions, Steve does his best to follow Daisy’s instructions.  _ “Steve,” Daisy had said one day, “you’re taking on too much.” Steve sighed, sipping at his mug of coffee. “You need to go back to your roots. Read books that aren’t historical and nonfiction. Watch TV or movies because you want to, not because you feel the need to catch up. Paint, draw, sketch. Do something for yourself!”  _ That day, Steve had promised to try and be a little selfish with his time off. 

 

Which is why Steve had went out and bought an easel, a couple of canvases, and a set of nice oil based paints. 

 

He set it up in his spare room, kept away from everyone else. The Avengers had no clue about Steve’s passion about art, other than the little doodles he draws during meetings. Having his own space and his own hobby away from this new world, it grounds him. 

 

Steve sat on his stool, paints by his side and a canvas on his new easel. He twirled the brush in his hand, eyeing the canvas before him. His hands twitched to paint something, but he wasn’t sure if he should even paint it… 

 

And then his hands were moving on their own accord. 

 

It didn’t take him long to realize what he was painting. With a fond smile, Steve paused to take in the beginnings of a face he’d never forget. “Hi Buck,” he whispered. 

 

Steve put everything he had into that painting, making sure every detail was just right. All of his emotions, his feelings, his guilt, his love, everything was poured into the painting. 

 

And it was almost perfect. 

 

After several hours of painting, Steve was just putting the final touches on the piece when his stomach growled and ached with hunger. He did his best to fight the emptiness in his stomach, working through the discomfort just a little longer so he wouldn’t disrupt his rhythm. “Captain,” Jarvis announced, “Thor has requested your presence for a traditional Asgardian feast.” 

 

Steve sighed and put down his brush. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His scrutinizing gaze scanned the painting, trying to spot any flaws that needed to be fixed. 

 

“It may do you some good to step away, sir. Once you return, fed and rested, you may be able to spot something different.” 

 

“You’re right,” Steve agreed. He cleaned up his workspace, saving all the paint he could and cleaning his brushes and the water. He quickly showered and cleaned the paint off of him, preparing himself for a traditional Asgardian feast with his friends.

 

Later that night, the super soldier returned to his spare bedroom and grinned at the painting in front of him. On the canvas was a beautiful portrayal of a laughing Bucky after the two of them had gotten back together during the war. His face was bright with laughter, his eyes crinkling with the smile he couldn’t help and full of love as they stared back at Steve from beneath his eyelashes. He was wearing his service uniform, his beret and hair done perfectly (Bucky always liked to look his best) and his tie on straight. He looked dashing, standing there with his head dipped in a quiet laugh and his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Evenin’ Buck,” he whispered to the nearly dry painting as he sat down. “You’re almost done, baby. I just need to touch up the lighting a bit.” 

 

Steve fell back into his work, his hands moving gracefully across the canvas as he added the depth and final touches to his background. 

 

And once it was all said and done, Steve sat back and admired his work. “I miss you, ya jerk. Do anything to have you back, ya know? Nobody understands me these days. Daisy and Gabe do their best, but they’ve changed so much over the years it’s hard. And the Avengers are great and all, but there’s a cultural difference that we’re still not used to. Nobody knew me as well as you did and I doubt anyone ever will. You’ve spoiled me, Barnes. Ain’t gonna find anyone half as good as you. Love you, Buck. I really do.” Steve bit his lip as he pictured Bucky saying those words back to him. 

 

Tears had welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. Steve took a second to compose himself before he grabbed the brush again, dipped it in the black, and prepared to sign his name in the corner. 

 

And then the Avengers siren went off throughout the building. 

 

Steve’s hand jerked as he dropped the brush, mumbled a quick “be back soon” to his painting, and rushed to prepare for battle. 

 

Thankfully, it had turned out to be a false alarm. Steve hadn’t checked his phone with Tony’s reminder about the test they were running on the alarms. Steve was glad to see he wasn’t the only one who missed the text, given that Clint was dressed and ready as well. 

 

Either way, he made his way back to his floor and back to the spare room. Only to discover the most terrible thing had happened.

 

When the alarm went off and he had jerked up, the brush had made contact with the canvas. 

 

A long, black line ripped through Bucky’s legs. 

 

Steve stood in horror in the doorway, eyes wide and his body frozen. 

 

All of his hard work was gone, ruined, destroyed, because he didn’t take the time to check his phone. If he had just looked at Tony’s message, he wouldn’t have messed up so badly. He could have waited a little longer for the alarm to go off. 

 

He could have saved this Bucky. 

 

God knows he didn’t save the real Bucky…

 

A blinding rage erupted in Steve. He released a guttural scream, ripping through the canvas and the easel in no time, screaming and cursing in the process. Paint covered his body and the hardwood floors, wood had splintered into his hands and scraped the floor, his Bucky was torn to shreds to resemble nothing. Nothing but Steve’s failure.

 

When he finally calmed down, Steve gathered all of the rubbage and took it to the fireplace in his room. Piece by piece he burned the evidence, smudging the paint with his tears and breaking the silence of the eerily quiet apartment with the crackle of fire and his sniffles. 

 

He ended up falling asleep by the fire, the last scrap of Bucky’s eyes held tight in his hands next to the dog tags. 

 

The next morning, Steve woke up and went about his routine until he felt stable enough to clean up the mess he had left the night before. Hesitantly, he made his way into the spare room only to stop dead in his tracks.

 

Sitting in the exact same place of his old easel was a new, wooden easel with a beautiful dark finish. That wasn’t what stopped him, however. Steve was transfixed by the beautiful canvas picture of his Bucky sitting atop it with a big, luscious bow on the top corner. 

 

Steve stumbled forward, unsure how this happened or when. It looked exactly as he had painted it yesterday, with just as much passion and detail as he had added previously. It was perfect, down to the last faint freckle on Bucky’s cheek. And there was no way it could be someone else’s handiwork, not when Steve was the only one who knew that Bucky’s left eye had a tinge more gray than the right when he dipped his head. 

 

He was stunned.

 

“Captain,” Jarvis interrupted, “I hope you don’t mind.” 

 

Steve shook his head, unable to look away. “How did- Who- Huh?” 

 

“I took the liberty of digitally scanning your piece whenever you paused, sir. This seems to be an important piece to you and I took all precautionary measures I could.” 

 

“But how?” 

 

“I transferred the final scan, right before the alarm sounded, to a canvas and had someone deliver it to your room without your knowledge. I apologize for the invasion of privacy, Captain, but I did not believe you were in the right state of mind to handle visitors.”

 

Steve blushed. “You’re not wrong.” He grinned, tears welling in his eyes again. “You have no idea how thankful I am, Jarvis.” 

 

“It is my pleasure, Captain.” The AI paused for a moment before he said, “I believe you have a painting to sign, sir.” 

 

And Steve did, signing it with a practiced ease and an overwhelming sense of pride (along with a flourish of emotions surrounding Bucky, the painting, and Jarvis’ kind actions). 

 

He ended up hanging the painting in the spare room, what he now dubbed his art studio. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

‘ _ My office. Now. _ ’ 

 

Steve looked at the text one last time, with dread filling his gut. Fury had sent him the text as soon as the captain landed in D.C. The director even sent him a car to pick him up at the airport, which he never does. 

 

The Triskelion was bustling with midday traffic. Steve maneuvered his way through the lobby and stuffed himself into the elevator that was already filled with civilians. 

 

It was awful.

 

Two men stood behind him were whispering about how Steve wasn’t as impressive in person as they had previously thought. The woman in front of him kept glancing back at him through the reflective surface of the elevator doors. The agent beside him kept sneaking glances at him, a little too flirtatiously. 

 

He just wanted out.

 

Everytime the door opened, one person left and another person entered. Another set of eyes on him. Another mind with their own assumptions of who Steve should be.

 

And then it was just him. 

 

Until the doors opened to reveal the director himself. 

 

“Captain,” Nick boomed, “glad you finally made it.” 

 

“Director Fury.” Steve reached for the man’s hand. “It’s been too long.” 

 

“Let’s get to it.” Nick walked off towards his office, his trenchcoat swirling around his calves. “How’s New York been on your end? I hear you’ve been helping out with some of the repairs and some fundraising from the Chitauri aftermath.”

 

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes sir.” 

 

“That all I get?” The director asked as he opened the door to his office. Steve mumbled a thanks, with his cheeks turned red and his head tucked down. “Have a seat, Steve.” The blond did as he was told, watching the director walk around his desk and stare out the window. “How many trips to D.C have you made in the past month?”

 

“Two, sir.” 

 

The director ordered, “Drop the sir, Rogers. You can call me Nick when it’s just the two of us.” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Steve.

 

“Understood.” The blush only deepened on Steve’s face. “Why do you ask?”

 

Nick turned around and glided into his seat. “I ask because I think you may be wasting valuable time in New York.”

 

Steve sat up in his seat, leaning forward with piqued interest. “What does that mean?”

 

“I want you to start training to eventually become our head trainer. We need agents with your drive, strategic ability, and morals. That sound like something you’re interested in?” 

 

The captain leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “What about the Avengers?”

 

“You’ll still be the captain of the Avengers, which will last as long as we need them too or until the team decides to call it quits.” Nick leaned back in his chair. 

 

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “If I tell you I will and ten years from now I don’t feel like being apart of S.H.I.E.L.D anymore, are you going to have my head?” He asked with a smirk peeking through his professional facade. 

 

Nick shook his head. “No contracts, verbal or physical.”

 

The captain pulled at a loose thread on his jeans, mulling over the idea. “I’m willing to train for it at least. We’ll see how things go.” 

 

“That’s all I ask.” Nick turned to his computer. 

 

“Is that it?”

 

“Unless there’s anything you need to tell me?” 

 

Steve bit his lip before he shook his head, standing from his seat. “I suppose that would be it.” 

 

“We’ll be in touch.”

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

The additional training caused Steve to move to D.C. The Avengers were in a rut, which was bittersweet. On the one hand, the world wasn’t ending, but on the other, Steve was bored. The good news was that the STRIKE team was starting to gain momentum. Every other week, Steve and the team had another mission in another country to take care of. 

 

Besides, D.C was nice. It gave Steve a chance to escape his past and find himself in this new century. Sure, he missed New York like crazy, but the city was filled with ghosts from his past. Every time he needed to go to Brooklyn, he was haunted by the memories of his childhood. Manhattan was plagued with memories of his days in the service. 

 

Steve dragged his body into his new apartment, his gym bag hanging over his shoulder. He’d been training nonstop, between the Avengers, the STRIKE team, and the recruit trainer training, Steve hasn’t had much time do anything. His sleeping schedule is all off, he’s always on the move, and his body aches longer than it should. He almost felt like he was back in his old body once again. 

 

It was no wonder he’d been having nightmares lately.

 

_ Steve yawned, curling into the pillow beneath him. Someone shifted behind him with a muffled whine, the arm around his waist tightened a hair. “Steve, quit moving,” Bucky grumbled. The blond squirmed, turning around to face the other man. Bucky smiled with his eyes still closed and his arms still wrapped around Steve’s waist. He looked so peaceful and sleepy. “Like what you see punk?”  _

 

_ “You bet,” Steve whispered as he brought up a hand to caress Bucky’s cheek. His thumb rubbed against the older man’s dark stubble, the rough, prickly touch enticing yet charming. Steve grinned. _ Bucky Barnes, the only boy who could pull of charm and raw sex appeal without even trying,  _ Steve thought. “What are the plans for today?”  _

 

_ “Figured we’d spend the day around the house,” Bucky mumbled as he opened his gorgeous blue eyes. “We can go up to the roof, read a couple of books, sketch some drawings, make-out a little? Stop me when it gets to be too much.”  _

 

_ Steve leaned forward, their noses bumping. “I think that sounds like a beautiful idea,” he whispered as their lips touched.  _

 

_ When he pulled away, Steve pressed their foreheads together, his eyes kept shut.  _

 

_ And then two large hands were pushing him back.  _

 

_ And guns were firing at him.  _

 

_ And people were screaming. _

 

_ His eyes shot open.  _

 

_ He was no longer in bed with Bucky. He was back on that damned train, back in that damn car  _

 

_ The whirring of a gun sounded behind them, the goon Steve had taken out now aiming his gun. Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he shoved Bucky behind him, ducking under the shield with a scream of, “Get down!” He held Bucky close to him, the weight of the man on his back comforting his anxiety just enough to try and take down the man. The Hydra gunman shot at the shield, the ray bouncing off and blasting a hole in the train. Steve was thrown to the other wall, shield discarded and Bucky exposed.  _

 

_ His ears were ringing as he struggled to get his ground, to get the strength needed to clear his head and stand up. It was like the air was being sucked out the hole, the sound loud and obnoxious in their ears. The air was already hard to breath at this altitude, but the suction the hole had made only intensified the situation.  _

 

_ When he finally looked up, Bucky had the shield in his hand and a gun pointed at the man, stalking the Hydra goon with a scowl. Steve’s heart was hammering in his chest as he watched.  _

 

_ The Hydra soldier shot again, hitting the shield on the star. Bucky was thrown back, the suction from the hole in the wall pulling him out the train. Steve scrambled up, grabbed his shield, threw it at the Nazi with all he had, and slung off his helmet as he reached the hole.  _

 

_ “Bucky!” He hollered over the wind, climbing onto the sheet of wall that had been peeled off in the blast. Bucky was hanging on a rail, dangling precariously over the side of the mountain. Steve’s chest felt tight, his pulse impossibly high, as he carefully worked his way close to Bucky’s side. “Hang on,” he called, moving closer to the end of his rail.  _

 

_ Bucky was crawling closer to the end of his own rail, going inch by inch. His grip was starting to slip, his fingers aching the longer he held himself up.  _

 

_ Steve was as close as he could get when he called, “Grab my hand!” He reached for his husband, desperate to pull the man close to him. But the rail Bucky was holding started to give, shaking in Bucky’s grip. His eyes widened. “No!” He lunged forward, one hand gripping the rail tightly and the other reaching for Bucky as he started to slip. _

 

_ The sergeant tried to grasp Steve’s hand, but it was too late. The rail detached from the side, Bucky’s hand inches away from Steve’s. Bucky screamed as he fell, the horrified noise echoing in Steve’s ears. _

 

Steve screamed and shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged, and his eyes crazed. He was still screaming, ripping through his sheets with no control. It was as if he wasn’t in control of his body. 

 

“I need him,” Steve wheezed through his tears. “I need Bucky.” 

  
The man scrambled out of bed, stuffing his legs through the legs of his sweatpants. He needed to get out of here, he needed to get to his Bucky. All he needed was Bucky. 

 

He jumped on his bike and sped off towards New York. 

 

When Steve finally made it to Brooklyn, he had calmed down enough to not feel so anxious. He wasn’t himself yet, not entirely. Steve just needed to get there, to get to Bucky. Bucky always made him feel better, made him feel like himself. Who was he without Bucky? 

 

The bike sped down the street, the engine purring beneath him as he grew closer to Bucky. 

 

He woke up the next morning with his face down in the dirt and his arms stretched out on either side of him. He sat up, groggy and disorientated, to see a headstone with his name engraved on it. Steve glanced to either side of him, where his mother and Bucky lay. 

 

If he sat there and cried for hours on end, no one would know but him. 


	6. 2014

 

#  _ Chapter Five _

  
  


**2014**

 

Steve glanced down at his phone, specifically at the texts that were waiting for him on his screen. Tony and Natasha had both sent him ominous texts in the past hour. 

 

_ Meet us at the Smithsonian. 9:00 pm sharp! And please dress like you actually come from this century, Grandpa. I can’t be seen with you in your newsies’ outfit.  _ Tony had sent him. 

 

_ If you don’t show up, I’ll make sure you join the fossils.  _ And that was Natasha. 

 

Steve flipped the phone face down onto the counter and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen the team in about a month. Usually, it was just him and Natasha, who was working with STRIKE more often these days. Since Natasha and Clint went off on a top secret mission last month, Steve had been alone other than the trips to visit Peggy. 

 

Part of him truly wanted to go to the museum with his new friends, but the other half  _ really _ wanted to take a long, scalding shower, and tuck in for the night. 

 

His phone chimed. The captain braced himself against the counter, eyes closed and head down.  _ You can do this, Rogers. Man up and go out with the team, you need it,  _ he thought. 

 

Steve heaved himself up and plucked the phone off the counter. It was from Bruce.  _ Steve, come on out. You’re going to like it. _ The doctor didn’t like to text and he knew Steve wasn’t the biggest fan either, so a text from Bruce was far more important than it seemed.

 

“Looks like I’m going.” Steve slipped the phone into his jeans and ventured into his bedroom to get dressed for the night out.

 

The museum was empty when Steve finally made his way up the steps. A guard let him in and mumbled something about the second floor before he slipped back behind the desk. Steve thanked him and started towards the stairs. The echoing of his footsteps and the murmur of voices ahead had Steve on edge. He didn’t like surprises much, not when they usually meant bodily harm and hospital visits. 

 

He moved towards the noise slowly, body tense and ready to take action. Steve could hear the clicking of high heels coming towards him, the footsteps reluctantly light as if someone was trained to be silent but wanted to make themselves known; Natasha. He relaxed a little, watching the corridor where she’d be entering. 

 

The shadow appeared first, stretching across the wall in an abstract form of Natasha’s infamous figure. Her footsteps grew louder and Steve could hear her humming a Russian lullaby he once heard. 

 

And then she rounded the corner.

 

Natasha stood in an elegant red and black dress with her hair in deep ringlets draping over her shoulders and a belt around her waist with the widow’s symbol. “How are we today, Grandpa?”

 

“Fine and dandy, as usual. And you?” Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets, casually walking towards her. 

 

“How long did you have to convince yourself to come?” she asked quietly, sauntering towards him with her arms crossed and a smirk upon her lips. 

 

Steve blushed. “Longer than I’d like to admit.” 

 

Natasha reached him and gently wrapped her hands around his left bicep. “You’re here now. This way.” She guided him towards the corridor that she had just traveled down, humming lightly as she walked. 

 

“What should I expect?” he whispered.

 

“Nothing bad. It should be a nice surprise,” Nat answered honestly. “Daisy’s here and so is the rest of the team, but no one else.”

 

“No reporters or agents?” 

 

“Not a soul.” 

 

Steve nodded and picked up the pace ever so slightly, almost eager to arrive to their destination. 

 

They rounded a corner to find a pair of double doors with all of his friends in front of it. Steve smiled, his free hand coming up to give a small salute-like wave. 

 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Tony remarked. “We’ve got a surprise for you.” 

 

“Why the museum, though?” Steve laughed lightly. 

 

Daisy stepped forward to take Steve’s other arm. “I sold some of the pieces you didn’t really care about. I know I should have asked you, but once I found out what they were doing… I think this is for the best.” 

 

“Wait, so is this an exhibit?” 

 

“A multi-media learning experience, actually,” Bruce commented.

 

“They took my pieces and some of the research they had done and created something new.” Daisy patted his arm. “It opens in two weeks, but we wanted to show it to you first.” 

 

Tony snapped his fingers at the older security guard behind them. “Open the doors, good sir!” 

 

The guard grumbled something under his breath, but opened the doors nonetheless. Daisy and Nat guided Steve into the exhibit, everyone else following behind them. 

 

Steve stood in the middle of the exhibit, eyes scanning the place. It was interesting, to see and hear things from his life; things that felt like they were from a lifetime ago. The three of them walked around, stopping to read and listen to the large exhibit pieces. 

 

There were two little alcoves with large screens showing films, one of his movies and the other an interview Peggy had given in the fifties. Nat held his hand a little harder during the Peggy one, but didn’t say anything. Daisy did the opposite, she squeezed his hand tight during the movie. “Don’t you go ranting about the injustice of this thing,” she whispered to him with a wink. 

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “No promises.” 

 

The group continued to walk. They paused in front of the huge case of uniforms, looking up at the Howling Commando’s and their respective, famous attire. “I always loved that damn coat,” Steve said wistfully, looking at Bucky’s uniform beside his own.

 

Clint made a face. “The peacoat?” 

 

Steve nodded, his smile turning mischievous. “Have a lot of memories with that thing. He wore it all winter long and any chance he got.” 

 

“What kind of memories?” Daisy asked, smiling.

 

His eyes widened a little more in panic, a deep blush settling over his cheeks. He coughed, avoiding eye contact. “That’s confidential.”

  
“Confidential?” Natasha quipped.

 

“Steven, what sort of memories?” Daisy asked suspiciously. 

 

Steve shrugged. “Daisy, I would love to tell you,” he started before dropping his voice into a whisper, “but I would hate to ruin the image you have of your brother.” 

 

Daisy gasped, slapping Steve on the arm with a sharp laugh. “You two are disgusting.” 

 

He winked and took her by the arm, guiding her through the rest of the exhibit, leaving the others behind. 

 

And then they reached the Bucky Barnes commemorative wall. 

 

Steve let Daisy’s hand fall, taking a tentative step towards the screen where he and Bucky were shown laughing. He couldn’t take his eyes off his Bucky, who looked at him like he was everything. He tore his eyes away from his beautiful friend to see if anyone had followed them. 

 

Daisy clung to his back, sniffling. “This video,” he whispered in a somber voice, “was when we had just gotten back together. None of the Commandos knew about us yet and we were trying our best to keep it a secret. I didn’t realize how lovestruck we both looked,” he chuckled. “I’m surprised no one figured it out earlier.” 

 

“You and me both.” 

 

Steve let out a watery laugh, doing whatever it takes not to cry in front of her and his friends. “Thank you for this. I know it’s hard for you, too.”

 

Daisy hummed. “It is, but it’s easier with time. You’ll see that one day, Steve.” 

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

Steve knocked on the door three times before he peeked his head in. Peggy gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. “Steve! You’ve come back! I thought you had to work today!”

 

“Decided to skip training and see my best girl. How are you today?” Steve asked quietly as he came to sat beside her. He took her hand, caressing it gently. 

 

Peggy blushed and patted Steve’s hand. “I’m doing much better than I was yesterday,” she replied. “I’ve missed you.” 

 

Steve kissed her hand. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

 

“Will you fill me in on what’s going on?” She asked quietly, her voice rasping against the syllables. 

 

Steve’s head dropped. “There’s a lot happening, Peggy. I’m not sure if you’d want to hear it.”

 

Peggy gave him a soft smile. “I can take it, Stevie.” 

 

“I know you can,” Steve stated. He cleared his throat and began to tell her about his life. Steve talked about the Avengers, his grief over Bucky and the life he had before the crash, and how life was so different compared to what he was used to. “I’m starting to enjoy being an AVenger, even if it means-”

 

A sharp gasp burst out of Peggy, her hand yanked out of Steve’s. Steve paused, slowly moving away to give her space. “Get out,” she whispered.    
  


“Peggy,” he began. “It’s Steve.”

 

“Steve?”

 

He gave her a sad smile, doing his best not to cry. “Yeah, Peggy. Steve.”

 

Her face twisted in disgust. “I don’t know any Steves. You need to leave.”

 

“Pegs,” he tried.

 

“Get out!” She bellowed, thrashing in her bed. 

 

Steve quickly left, trading places with Peggy’s nurses. “What happened?” Gemma, a nurse, asked. 

 

“We were talking and she just...forgot.” 

 

Gemma gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Steve. Go ahead and head home. We’ll let you know in the evening, okay?” 

 

Steve nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly before he left the nursing home in a rush. 

 

It was getting harder to see her every time. Steve just wished things were different. Wished they were all different. 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

Sam started to walk away. Steve glanced around at the veterans, some happy and others weary. ‘ _ I’m not alone _ ,’ Steve suddenly thought. A sense of power, stability, and bravery washed over him and he suddenly didn’t want to work through this alone. 

 

He jogged after Sam, coming up beside him. “On your left,” he joked. 

 

“Just keep rubbing it in,” Sam groaned.

 

Steve grinned. “You get a lunch break?”

 

Sam gave him a surprised and suspicious look. “In about ten minutes, why?”

 

“You like burgers?”

 

“You buying?”

 

“I invited you, didn’t I?” 

 

“Meet me at the diner round the corner.” 

 

“I’ll see you there.” 

 

Steve squeezed himself into a booth in the back, away from the windows. He supped at his water, doodling on a napkin as he waited. 

 

“So, do you only eat burgers and pies or can your digestive track only handle American foods?” Sam asked as he slid into the booth.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, I only eat apple pie and freedom.” 

 

Sam laughed. “How come America doesn’t know this side of you?”

 

“Not PR approved,” Steve said with a shrug.

 

“It’s a shame.”

 

“Truly is.” Steve downed his water and flagged down the waitress. They ordered and sat in silence. “I haven’t been alone with another vet since ‘45,” Steve admitted quietly. “I’m not sure what’s okay to talk about and what isn’t. It’s not like with civilians, where you sugar coat the bad and highlight the good. You’ll know when I’m bullshitting something.” 

 

Sam nodded with a soft smile. “I get that.” He sipped at his coke and leaned forward. “Usually, you ease into the heavy stuff with other vets. You feel them out, see how bad the PTSD-”

 

“The what?”

 

The other man was taken aback. “PTSD? Shell-shock? You haven’t heard about it?” Steve shook his head, big blue eyes rounded with innocence. Sam nodded, doing his best to manage his reaction. “After the war, soldiers were coming back differently. It’s like they never really left. People called it ‘shell-shock’ back in the day, when a soldier was still affected by the war after they left it. Now it’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, because not just soldiers go through it.” 

 

Sam cleared his throat. “Do you ever hear a loud noise and immediately think it’s a gun shot? Or maybe it’s-”

 

“Cold water,” Steve interrupted, not meeting Sam’s eye. 

 

“Cold water?” 

 

Steve nodded. “Whenever I take a cold shower or have to be in cold water, I, um-”

 

Sam’s eyes widened in realization. “The plane crash, right?” Steve nodded again. Sam was quiet for a moment. “Steve, have you told anyone about this?” 

 

He shook his head. “Not blatantly. I think Natasha knows something isn’t right, but she hasn’t said anything.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Steve blushed and looked down to the napkin he drew on, a little Bucky and Dugan staring back at him. “I get these really intense flashbacks, mostly from cold water or nightmares. She’s walked in on me a few times now, helped me out. We don’t talk about it, though.” 

 

“But you should.” Sam took Steve’s hand and slid a card into his palm. “You need to talk about it with someone, preferably with someone who is trained in PTSD in vets. Whenever you feel ready to talk to someone, you call that number okay?” He retracted his hand and grabbed his glass as he leaned back. 

 

Steve flipped the card in his hand. “Dr. Lawson?” 

 

“Colleague of mine. She’s a really great listener and works down at the VA. She handles some of our more difficult cases and the special forces units. You can trust her, I promise.” 

 

“How come you didn’t give me your card?” Steve asked as the waitress brought their burgers.

 

Sam smirked. “Conflict of interest. I can’t be your psychiatrist and your friend. I’d rather be friends, if that’s okay with you?”

 

Steve grinned. “Works with me. Just know I’m a bit of a handful.” 

 

#  _ ~*~*~*~ _

 

“When you said you were a bit of a handful I was expecting a lot of partying and drunk pranks, not heists and wild goose chases,” Sam said as he entered Steve’s new apartment with Chinese take-out. 

 

Steve turned in his office chair and grinned. “Partying is for young folk.” He stood from his seat and moved towards his kitchen. 

 

Sam rolled his eyes and started to pull everything out of the plastic bags. “So Operation: Find Barnes is a go?” 

 

The blond nodded as he grabbed plates and drinks. “I’ve spent the last two days looking over the files Nat released and made a map of all the bases in Europe. Still working on the US bases, but that shouldn’t take too terribly long.” 

 

The two settled onto the couch where a baseball game was playing on the television to eat. “Why are we doing all of this again? If I remember correctly, he tried to kill us both several times over the course of two days  _ and _ landed you in the hospital. What are you planning on doing when we find him?”

 

“What he would do for me. I’ll help him with whatever he needs and keep him out of trouble.” 

 

Sam sighed. “Steve, I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

 

“I don’t, but he’s worth it.”

 

“Is he?” 

 

Steve looked Sam in the eye and said in a clear, steady voice, “He’s worth everything.”

 

Sam sighed again. “Okay, Steve.” 

 

They watched the game and continued to eat. Neither said much about anything besides a few comments and groans concerning the game. Steve cleaned up their mess, sneaking glances at the screen every now and again. 

 

He sat beside Sam, both of them mindlessly watching the game. “Show me the plan,” Sam said quietly. 

 

Steve jumped from his spot and grabbed the large map of Europe he had tucked beneath his desk. He spread it out onto the coffee table for the two of them to look over. “Okay, so the red dots are bases that the Avengers will look into. It’s too much for the two of us to go in alone. They’re still active and you haven’t had Avengers training-”

 

“Neither have you, technically.”

 

“I’m special forces and a super-soldier. I think I’m more than qualified,” Steve retorted without skipping a beat. “Anyways, the green dots are the ones we can look into ourselves. Yellow are places where Bucky was held personally, they’re also potential places he may have returned to.” 

 

“And the pink?” 

 

“Still looking into those. Blues are active, orange is dormant. However, I think those need to be excavated and destroyed. Never know when Hydra will return to an old base and set up camp.” 

 

“Very true.” 

 

“As soon as I finish this and I have our strategy finalized, I’m taking it to the D.O.D and President Ellis. They’ll sign off on us looking into this and then we can take off. The quicker we get going, the faster we can find him.” 

 

Sam nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

 

Steve looked up at him, eyes scrutinizing his facial expression. “You don’t seem convinced.”

 

“Sorry if I’m worried about how you’re going about this,” Sam crossed his arms. “As your friend, I can tell you that I’m starting to worry. You aren’t sleeping and you just got out of the hospital like a week ago. Serum or not, you need to let your body rest and heal before you go out burning Hydra camps and searching for an assassin who may or may not remember you.”

  
The captain shook his head, eyes trained on the map before him. “You don’t get it Sam. None of you do. This isn’t just some kid I knew way back when. He’s Bucky, the only friend I ever had back in the day. He’s family and we look out for each other. He’s saved my ass countless times. It’s about time I save his.”

 

“He barely remembers you Steve!”

 

“You read the files! He doesn’t even remember his own goddamn name! How do you expect him to remember me?” Steve bellowed. “Look, you said you were in it for the long haul and that includes finding Buck. You can back out if you want to, but I’m not stopping. No one can make me stop. No one.”

 

Sam groaned, his head hung back in defeat. “You’re insufferable, Rogers.”

 

“I prefer the term determined.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The next part of the series is posted, enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I truly appreciate ALL of you! I hope you continue to read and enjoy the series!! ~ J xxxx


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